


Laws of Hospitality

by will_thewisp



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Avengers AU, BAMF Frigga (Marvel), BAMF Loki, Challenge Response, Infinity Gems, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Odin's A+ Parenting, Politics, Pre-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10229360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_thewisp/pseuds/will_thewisp
Summary: Avengers AU. What if Erik hurriedly welcomes Loki to earth and so under the rules of sacred hospitality Loki can't go forward with his attack?





	1. Being Hospitable

**Author's Note:**

> This story started long ago as a response to a prompt [@ norsekink meme](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12950.html?thread=31216790#t31216790) that was essentially: What if Erik hurriedly welcomes Loki to earth and so under the rules of sacred hospitality Loki can't go forward with his attack? 
> 
> I must warn for epic misuse of Norse mythology, comic book canon and eventually - movie canon. I took a rather pick-and-choose approach to the whole thing. Also, there was quite a time between the creation of the first chapters and... now. Somewhere along the way I lost the thought and kept struggling to pick it back up. As it is - I reworked the earlier chapters, but some of the things in them might still seem a bit awkward.
> 
> Also - as this story was born out of general annoyance of the hypocritical binary morality that was displayed in the movies (I will not even start a rant on The Dark World), I tried to make Asgardians less.. stupid. And still integrate their alien way of being. And understanding things. In the end it's a bit political, a bit shameless in the parts I wanted to celebrate and I still haven't gotten around to the smutty parts. Or the really shippy parts.
> 
> New tags will likely be added. Warnings as well. If you feel there's something that should have a warning and doesn't - let me know. This story is also definitely not finished, but I'm finally getting on with the plot. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

The Tesseract was misbehaving and Doctor Erik Selvig found it very _not_ funny.

He had been studying it for months and the foreign jewel had yielded very little of its mysteries. Erik could guess a part, but he knew that he was just skimming the surface – like a child, stumbling blind in the dark, knowing how to walk, knowing not where the road lead. He had spent many hours with the Tesseract and he could almost swear than in it's blue depths he saw something, _certainly,_ it didn't talk to him (like some of his colleagues laughed behind his back), but he did sense something, even if he didn't know what it was. It was clear to him that the Tesseract was more than a jewel or a weapon of mass destruction, to be perfectly honest – during the time he had spent with the stone, he had began to somewhat suspect that it had an intelligence of sorts. Cue _misbehaving_.

The situation worried him. As well as the expectations heaped on this project. The way some of his calculations were always rushed off to another project. _Phase II._ He had no idea what it was. He had no time to ponder about it to conceive an idea. The first time he walked in and saw that they had already built a traveling platform he had snorted. Just because the God of Thunder could open an intergalactic bridge by shouting at heavens, didn't mean any of them could. Even with the Tesseract. The blue jewel did not give up it's secrets easily. _Or at all,_ Erik sighed as he read another harmless, petulant power surge. He knew for a fact that this all meant that the Tesseract was doing something, but to him it felt like it was dragging it's teeth about it. And that worried him even more.

The moment the Tesseract spiked shooting a blue light of energy parallel the lines of conduits, and a black hole in space appeared on the platform they had built – Erik was almost not surprised. His heart was in his throat and beating wildly. It seemed to last forever and was over in a moment. Erik stood stupefied as the energy flickered like a flame and clung to their unexpected guest. For surely, on the previously empty platform now crouched a figure dressed in black and green.

The soldiers pulled up their weapons, making their first cautious steps forward. The panels were still glaring bright yellow light, when Erik found himself nearly jumping forwards with, “Hello! Hello and welcome to Earth. Or Midgard, you're Asgardian, are you not?”

Everyone halted. Except Erik and the figure. It was a man. The alien raised his head, his green eyes bore weightily on the doctor and Erik swallowed hard. He had no idea what had prompted him to move and to speak, but he found himself stepping forward even more, raising hand to silence director Fury before the spy even had a chance to open his mouth. Oddly enough the first thing he felt overall was terror, though he knew he ought to feel excitement. With every step forward he confirmed what he had seen first – this wasn't Thor.

He told himself that he should be excited that another Asgardian, or whoever this man was, had made it here. And through Tesseract no less. If this man was even half as cooperative and indulging as Thor and Warriors Three.. But no matter what kind of running commentary Eric kept in his head the longer he looked at their guest, the more terror he felt. Hair stood up at the back of his neck and every single bit of his being screamed that this man was up to no good. Yet Eric kept inching closer. It felt like he was standing on a precipice whether to triumph or to fall.

“Can .. Can I offer you water?” he managed to stutter out and tried not to nervously glance around looking for what he offered, it felt imperative to keep the eye contact as if with a dangerous animal. “Or coffee? I'm sure that that's one thing we can surely find here, and you do look.. It would be our pleasure. And crackers maybe?” at first he had offered to have something to say, but as he continued to speak another thought came to mind. He snapped his fingers imperiously and he heard something drop and clatter, and he trembled when the green eyes shifted from his gaze to look at the noise. Erik dared not let his gaze move. He breathed a tiny bit easier when he saw amusement in those deadly emerald eyes.

“Doctor Selvig, I really must..,” director Fury started though his uncompromising tone booked no argument. The soldiers made another step forward.

“Shut up, director,” he snapped, low and stressed. He didn't even look at Fury, all his attention was focused on their guest who in the few moments had risen to his full height. The man didn't sway, but Erik read exhaustion and pain in his pale, nearly white face, sunken look and nearly feverish eyes. Above all, though, doctor Selvig read danger. He had thought Thor dangerous the first time he saw him, stumbling around and shouting maniacally, but this silence and focus – it _looked_ deadly. Erik had no doubt it was.

“Doctor,” a nervous assistant approached Erik with a thermos mug of coffee and an opened, half-finished bag of crackers. Erik grabbed the offered items and almost laughed hysterically at the thought of saving the world with cold coffee and a box of crackers. Then he approached their guest. Who in the barest of seconds while Erik had looked at his assistant, had moved again. Down the platform.

“You look tired,” Erik absentmindedly wondered how he hadn't choked on his own tongue yet, he felt so mortified. “And.. Cold. Coffee is an energizing beverage and crackers... Well, they're sustenance,” he extended them and tried his best to keep his hands from shaking.

Loki hesitated for a moment. And then accepted coffee. “The void between worlds _is_ a cold place,” were his first words on Earth.

“Welcome to Earth,” Erik felt like he could faint with relief. Loki raised a questioning eyebrow and elegantly took a cracker too.

“Doctor, I must insist – back away,” Fury spoke up again. He was not one to be silenced for long. He saw that something had transpired, though he was a man enough to admit that he had no idea what exactly had happened. “And you, sir, put down the spear,” he spoke carefully, but there was no mistaking the command in his tone.

Loki looked up from the curiosity in front of him to Fury. He pushed the coffee back at Selvig, who barely managed to grasp it, “It is disgusting,” and he took up his scepter that had obediently floated at his left when he had released it for coffee.

“Yes, well, it's cold,” Erik grimaced agreeing with the analysis, but as the mystery man took up his weapon (Erik didn't believe for a single minute that someone who travels through wormholes carries pretty, but useless ornaments with him) Erik stepped more in front of the man. “You can't do that,” he argued softly, but it seemed to echo in the observatory.

Loki inclined his head, pausing. His hand was raised with the scepter in it, the blade was glowing with blue energy, but he did not fire yet. It's not as if he had any particular reason to rush – these humans, nor any reinforcements they might call upon were a match for him. He was a god among ants. “I wish I could agree. But I don't,” his tone was a mockery of sincerity. “I can and I will do as I please.”

“You can, but you won't,” Selvig argued bravely, and realized that at least for the moment – terror had fled. Maybe because while he had no idea what was before him, he felt protected. It was as if a shadow had passed – wringing him inside out, chilling his bones, but ultimately – doing no harm. “I welcomed you here. You can't attack us. Any of us.”

Loki's gaze narrowed.

Erik continued, though he guessed the being in front of him already knew what he was talking about, he spoke for the benefit of everyone else in the room, “I welcomed you here. On Earth, not just in this facility. By the laws of hospitality – you can't act to harm us.”

“Interesting,” Loki grinned, but his smile was a terrible, sinister thing. “But futile, ultimately. You did not do it correctly and you are not of Asgard.”

“We are of the Nine Realms and we welcome you as a Realm. You drank and you ate, and now you must give us time to get our bearings for a more proper welcome. It is only polite. As our guest,” Erik was not to be silenced or backed in a corner. He was determined to give his world away. He was determined to avoid slaughter. After all, this was a most secret facility and it housed the Tesseract, and this stranger had appeared here on a whim. The alien looked dangerous and if he acted half as much.. Erik reasoned that if he was a friend it was no burden to welcome him so, and if he was not – it was best to make a friend of him. Earth had enough enemies and maniacs as it was.

“It is not polite to try divest me of my things,” Loki tried another angle glancing at Fury who seemed rooted on spot, his face – expressionless.

“None will touch you,” Erik promised thinking desperately of how he was going to convince the director on that. “Nor harm you,” he doubted that they could had they even tried. “But you _must_ give us some time. The world is large, surely, you realize there are those to whom I must account and who would issue a more .. formal welcome?” Thor had never stood for ceremonies, or demanded anything, but then again, as Erik recalled, Thor had been human as he arrived (and a frightfully strong and dangerous one at that), and an exile. For all his faults, Thor had been a good man at heart, but Erik would be a fool not to expect the other side of the coin to drop too. And whoever stood in front of him was no human man to be trifled with.

The decision was entirely Loki's. True – he had been welcomed, but the ritual gesture of it was weak, barely symbolic in it's nature, he felt only the barest tendrils of magic binding him. He could break them with a snap of his fingers. And the power of honor and oath? What honor did he have as a Jötunn? He had broken other promises and oaths – ones that had weighed on him far more heavily. He had broken things that had been far more dear to him than this strange, little world he came to conquer. He hesitated with answer.

He tried to convince himself that he should just break the hold that this strange little man had gained on him. He should end his curiosity and proceed how he had planned – it mattered not if the humans had managed to carry out whatever contingency plans they had. He had no equals here. Yet he couldn't bring himself to act on it. “I accept,” is what he said when he deigned to speak.

He had made his choice the moment he paused upon arrival. He had sealed his fate the moment he took a drink of that vile concoction. And it was all his own doing and no ones hand forcing him. Even now – the magic of the sacred hospitality was weak, and at it's strongest it would be nothing to a god. It was nothing but an excuse.

Truth is, Loki was intrigued. He saw humans as no more than ants – organized in a hierarchical society and possessing of the barest scraps of intelligence, the common foot soldier being expendable and the queen of the hive nothing more than a fatter version of the first – the inner workings of the society ultimately completely insignificant. Still what the human in front of him had done was atypical.

Wariness, fear and above all a deep seated wish to submit – Loki could understand and see it in the race of Men, and others, truly. Asgardians were no strangers to cowardice. But somehow with his offer and request the human doctor had made the god pause. Sacred Hospitality was an old rule. A sacred one. It was rumored to break it was to incur the wrath of the Norns themselves. Loki knew all about rumors and whispers in the dark, though, truth be told, as a ritual the Sacred Hospitality hadn't been practiced for thousands of years – not outside of political negotiations. But wasn't just the mention of the archaic rule that intrigued him, it was the fact that even though he could smell the fear on the human – it still endeavored to treat him as a friend. It chipped in places Loki didn't even remember he had.

“Oh, good,” Erik breathed in relief. “I'm doctor Erik Selvig and I'm very .. “ Happy? Pleased? Privileged? “.. honored to meet you.” a lie, but a polite one. Mostly Erik was just relieved that nobody had been shot yet with all the trigger happy people in the room. He was a scientist, for god's sake's, not a hostage negotiator.

“I imagine so,” Loki did not reply with his name. He'll have to. Eventually. _But not yet._ If the human knew what he was dabbling in then he surely recognized that Loki's slight snub also meant that he did not consider this deal wholly sealed.

“Of course,” Erik absentmindedly noted. Whoever this being was, he was a polar opposite to Thor's wide smiling happy friends who had gently knocked on shop's windows, nearly jumping up and down in excitement. However in a way – he didn't seem so different from Thor, to Eric anyway. Thor had been open with his pain and anger – bleeding, screaming violence all over the place, and to Eric – similar pain simmered under the surface of this man. Two different states of the same element. Like water - ice and snow. If Thor was a storm of hail and snow, then this guy was ice – all sharp edges and brittle. “If you would follow me, I'll..”

“Doctor..” Fury had quite a lot in mind to say, but as he had interrupted Selvig, so Erik interrupted him.

“Trust me, director. I'll explain in a moment,” his tone was sharp, he would not accept a refusal.

Fury looked at the doctor and the stranger – long and hard. “Very well,” he acquiesced.

Erik nodded, heavily. “Now if you would follow me, I'll show you to more comfortable rooms while you wait,” he turned back to green-eyes.

“Lead the way, mortal,” Loki motioned and even though the address was said as an insult, he still cooperated, indulging in his curiosity. Enjoying how humans bickered and squabbled, and endeavored to please him. Loki had always enjoyed being at the center of attention. Perhaps even a bit more than he would care to admit.

Behind them as they walked away, Fury ordered Hawkeye to keep an eye on them and dispatched a team to do his command. Evacuation was to continue and Fury grabbed a case that a nearby agent presented him and moved to pack up the Tesseract as soon as doctor Selvig and their guest were out of sight. He had no idea what was going on, but as long as the world still spun, he had top secret artifacts and weapons to ship out of here post haste.

**LOH**

It was rumored on Asgard that there was not a thing in the Nine Realms that could ever surprise Heimdall. It was true for the most part. For all the thousands of years that Heimdall had stood watch at the Bifrost, he had seen many things while staring in the void. He had seen enough that he should have turned his face and sight from gods and other creatures a long time ago. But he was the son of nine mothers and he was stronger than that. For every act of cruelty and malice, there was one act of kindness. For every foolishly made mistake out of ignorance, there was always hope. In the chaos there seemed to be a balance for most things.

But not all.

There was no sense or balance in the pointless death of Asgard's youngest prince. One might think – and Heimdall was pragmatic enough to think it, even though he did not believe it – that Loki's death was a payment for the destruction he had wrought upon Jötunheimr. But it was not. None had seen as many worlds turn, as many events unfold and as many threads snapped as he had. He knew what recompense looked like. Suicide of a god was not it.

Of the few that knew the full and true events of those days, he guessed that some forgave the prince for his actions because of his death, for no warrior could ever make sense of such a senseless act.

He saw that the grief of the queen and the crown prince were not tempered by any offenses that might be laid at the Loki's feet. They grieved for the son and brother they had known and loved still, and it mattered not which worlds were lost. As it was – none were, just the prince. Just Loki.

The Allfather was much harder to read for all his sight allowed him to see. The first thing Heimdall had done when the king sat upon his throne again – he had laid his sword at the king's feet and asked for any punishment the Allfather might see fit to charge him.

For in all of this – Heimdall was not without fault. The prince had been right when he accused Heimdall of blindness, but it was not just the void that eluded his sight, as he had come to realize. In his vanity he had allowed the crown prince to pass that day of coronation. It had been the first step on the road that had put them here. He knew altogether too much to be able to claim ignorance – that he couldn't have known what would happen when the crown prince would reach Jötunheimr. He had wanted the Frost Giants to pay. He had wanted to see that. And in a manner that undoubtedly amused the Norns – Jötunheimr had taken it's revenge.

For sixty eight Frost Giants and their Winter Castle there was the Bifrost itself and a prince of Asgard.

Without ever going to war Jötunheimr had won.

So Heimdall had placed himself at Allfather's feet for judgment. He was the gatekeeper who had failed in his duty. He was the all seeing guardian who failed most of all. Blind, is what he was. He was also surprised. When instead of cutting his head off with the sword, the weary king gave it back to him and bid him to return to his post. Heimdall would have expected at least his eyes to be put out, as his sight as all encompassing it was, had proved only to blind him, so by all rights – he should be blind. But by the king's order he returned. He stood at the edge of the abyss, the broken shards of the bridge reaching into nothing – the Bifrost broken and fallen into the void. He was now the guardian of a ruin, forever staring into darkness as punishment.

It was the bright surge of the blue jewel that drew his sight. He remembered it from the times it had decorated Odin's hall of treasures. But it was another jewel of Odin's that took his breath away. Whole if not hale there on the tiny, insignificant planet of Midgard stood a prince of Asgard. Heimdall could scarcely believe his eyes, which is why he tarried – watched the tense exchange with the humans, wondering at what the prince had in mind while all the while rejoicing.

As the prince settled into a bleak room, strangely amused and not in any immediate danger, so Heimdall turned, disappeared, and dropped on his knee in front of the throne of Odin – all in one move. “My king, I have joyous news for you.”

“What would it be, gatekeeper?” Odin's tone was weary, as ever, lately.

“I have seen the prince, and he lives. Loki lives.”

One would think that sound would echo in the great throne room of Asgard, but it did not. The emptiness swallowed all the sounds and Heimdall's words didn't carry. Odin sat as if frozen in his seat and only after a while his gaze shifted from the floor to his gatekeeper. The king had heard clearly, but awareness came slowly, it was as if he had fallen in Odinsleep on the throne and only just now slowly woke.

“Show me what you have seen, Heimdall,” he ordered.

Heimdall bowed his head, still kneeling and extended his hand in subservience. Odin was suddenly in front of him, grasping the upturned palm and joining in the vision. All the moments strung together since Loki stepped out of the void on the Midgardian platform – every word, every gesture. Odin followed Heimdall's sight up until this very moment where prince of Asgard was still lounging in a small hall, arrogant and apparently comfortable. “Loki,” Odin spoke his son's name in wonder.

Odin released Heimdall. “You shall speak to no one of this.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Heimdall did not dare argue. The prince was alive. If king did not wish to make immediate announcement to all of Asgard, then he had the right to keep the revelation to his family for a little time. Heimdall did wonder if it won't only inflame all those that had whispered against the king recently.

There were those that thought that Odin had been wrong in stopping Loki, who had been king at the time, from destroying Jötunheimr. There were always those who were so eager to war that they were blinded to anything else, but as Heimdall had been handicapped by his own vanity – he felt he was no judge of them. There were also those that wondered if the prince's death was more than an accident. Whether the Allfather had ended his own successor. After all, the king had exiled Thor for acting against Jötunheimr, would it truly be above him to murder the youngest prince? There were many more of those that wondered what strange love did Odin hold for Jötunheimr.

Heimdall had dutifully reported all that stirred in the realm, but it was not to be helped at the moment. There were always fractions that did not agree with one another. It hurt Heimdall to see their people doubt their king – he had half hoped that by reporting this, Odin would bring them to light and address the issue, but the king had just taken it as another burden on his shoulders and done nothing.

Prince's death had silenced all open talk of war in Asgard. Jötunheimr for it's part had stopped the mustering of Giants that had been going on when Loki as a king had launched his attack. Now the Frost Giants rebuilt. And celebrated. Had Laufey been still alive Heimdall had no doubt that celebrations would be followed by war preparations, but king Laufey was dead and his son Helblindi, just ascended to the Ice Throne of Jötunheimr, was reluctant to rekindle war even when Asgard was as wounded as it was now. Heimdall suspected it to be the dowager queen's influence. Fárbauti had ever been against war since she had lost her firstborn in the previous one, and none of the younger princes knew what war truly meant.

“Now leave me. Return to your post,” Odin bid him. “Watch my son carefully. Notify me if he is in danger.”

Heimdall nodded, “As you will it, your majesty.”

Heimdall didn't need to stand at the edge nor gaze into the Bifrost to see what was happening in other realms, but the distant post had become his home and his place of solace and solitude in these long thousands of years. And looking into darkness to see beyond it had become a habit he would find hard to break. He inclined his head to the king before rising to his feet and disappearing only to find himself on the bridge in half-turn and his gaze drawn to the depths that he was blind to so that he would see beyond them. He vowed that he would not let his king down again. Nor his prince.

 


	2. Royal Family Drama

She had screamed at first. All of Asgard that had gathered in the great hall had witnessed their queen break apart when the doors opened and it was her king and the crown prince who walked in, the latter with his head hung low. She had been the first to see who was missing and she had been the first of all those gathered that had felt the loss. She had flown down the stairs near the throne, she had met them when they were still on their first steps inside. _Where is my son? Where is my prince?_ Her rage had been met with a simple, dead answer from her husband.

“He fell,” Odin had said.

And she had wailed. Like a wounded animal – fierce, full of rage, drowning in grief. Thor had moved to comfort her, but she had brushed his touch aside, disappearing from sight. She had left her husband and her child to do away with explanations. All of court had gathered in the throne room as they had felt magic pass as Odin had woken from his sleep. All of court was there to hear firsthand that their prince (and short-time king) was dead. Frigga had been far away when Odin made the official statement, she had been at the edge of the bridge keening her pain into the abyss below.

Many days had passed since then. Weeks. Months. She was silent now as she sat in her rooms and rarely moved outside them. She didn't welcome company, but she accepted it. She spoke to neither her husband nor her remaining son. A part of her knew that the way she acted was unfair to Thor, but to speak, to move about, to try and comfort him – it tugged at a part of her that was too small amidst the rest of her soul that despaired in darkness as black as the void. She had not the strength.

She was gifted with Foresight. She might not see everything under the stars, but she had the gift to see Future. How come she had not known this? How come she had not foreseen even a shadow of this? Just a little hint, it would have been all she needed. She had seen Loki leading the Frost Giants to disrupt Thor's coronation. She rightly had guessed that Thor would seek revenge. She'd been forewarned as Odin banished their son to Midgard. She had seen that as a harsh punishment, but Odin had promised that no harm would befall their boy. Even as a mortal. Allfather had sent Mjölnir after their son. The hammer had been spelled to restore Thor to godhood should his life be in danger of passing.

She had judged one life as a mortal a good lesson for an arrogant, young god to have. She had had half a mind to ask Odin to send Loki with his brother.

She hadn't guessed or known that Loki had learned his true heritage. She never could have guessed the revulsion and hate he carried for himself at that revelation. She hadn't had an inkling that it would all end in so many tears. Her tears.

Frigga sat in her rooms, perfect as always, her handmaidens never failed in their duty. She faced the window and stared into nothingness as the days waxed and waned. She missed her child. She missed him terribly. He was her son. She had raised him, sheltered him, taught him, loved him. He was hers. It mattered not that once he had had a different mother who bore him into the world. That woman had left him and he was all Frigga's now.

She had guided him, molded him and protected him, and somewhere along the way she had failed for he was a man of his own and now he was gone. Odin had saved him all those centuries ago and they had had him for what now felt like a borrowed time, because death had claimed Loki nonetheless. She had known him to be many things, but never had she thought him so wounded that he would give up.

She just didn't understand why he had let himself die.

The queen hid her face in her palms as she sobbed. Her frame hunched over, her shoulders shaking with the force of her pain. Her handmaidens paused in their duties and shared a long, sad look. They had thought that the queen was past this. It had been almost a week since she had last broken down. They had thought that she was getting better. They had been wrong. For Frigga everything was as fresh as the day those doors opened and only two came back home.

She did not look up when she heard doors opening. She did not try to reign in her tears when she heard her husband dismissing her maids in a soft tone of voice. She finally did try to make a futile attempt at composing herself when she heard Thor arriving with a question on his lips, “You called, father?”

She remembered how Loki used to mock his brother for stating the obvious, but Thor had always been this way. Speaking his mind before thinking. There was no subterfuge in her eldest – he was transparent in his emotions and actions equally. She did not value either of them above the other. She adored them all the more for their differences. It was a sharp pang in her heart that to rule Thor would need his brother by his side – they complimented each other so perfectly it had been a thing of beauty to watch them when they worked together at something.

“I did,” Odin acknowledged in the same soothing tone. “I have something to tell you and your mother.”

Frigga finally looked up – her face stained with tears, her expression pained and exhausted. She was quiet to hear what her husband would say. What other calamity was to befall them now? Was Jötunheimr back on warpath? Were they to do battle? She was the queen and she should care, but she couldn't bring herself to step away from being a mother whose child had been torn from her.

Thor moved across the room to drop on his knee in front of his mother. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “Lady mother,” he murmured. He would give anything in his power to see the pain and grief wiped from her spirit, but what she needed was not his to give. He could not bring his brother back from the dead. Not unless he were to travel to the roots of Yggdrasil. If he were to find the correct one, and the well – Urðarbrunnr – then he could wait in secret until the Norns came for water for the world tree and then beg them to restore his brother. It was not the first time he had had that thought.

Yet he knew not how to put his proposal before his sire and dame. He was now the last prince of Asgard. Because of him they were on the brink of war with Jötunheimr, still. He could not abandon them, but he also knew that he should at least try. It was a journey from which he might not return and he feared what that would do to his mother, but things could not go on as they were now. And not only for Frigga. He needed his brother too. “It is fortunate that we are gathered then,” he said. “For I have something to tell also.” There wouldn't be a better time for this.

Frigga sniffed and petted her child's golden hair. Thor was always bright like the sun. It hurt her to see him darkened like the storms that answered his call. He had always been her child of summer as Loki had been her son of winter. She had been blessed. And the Norns had seen fitting to take her blessings away. Perhaps she did not deserve them. After all, it was not a sword that had felled Loki. It had been a hurt so large he had not seen beyond it – and where she had been then? What good her mother' s instinct and protection had been when he'd been hanging at the edge of the world in more than one sense?

Odin was intrigued. He knew that Thor wasn't one for planning, but he had seen that his son had been mulling about something that he had not yet shared. “What is it?” he asked.

Thor met his father's gaze squarely. “I plan to seek out the Norns and beg them to restore my brother.”

“No!” Frigga cried out immediately, speaking for the first time since that fateful night. “I would not lose you too.”

Still from his position at her feet, Thor looked up at his mother in surprise. “I thought you would want nothing more than him back. I want nothing more than my brother back.” Frigga's hand in his hair was cold, her grip harsh.

“I do want that,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But Norns, should you find them, always exact a price, and it is always equal to the boon asked of them. I would not have you in their wretched hands. No,” she shook her head. “If anyone is going to them, it shall be I,” and her touch turned gentle again, as she caressed his golden head, before pulling herself back and standing.

Too long she had lingered in shadows and her grief. She was a goddess. A queen of Asgard. She was a mother and she was not helpless. For all that the Norns rarely granted their mercy for many had begged them for their loved ones.

“That won't be necessary,” Odin said, stopping his queen in her tracks. However before she could rage at him as she had done the day he had let her down by letting their son down, he continued, “Loki is alive.”

“What?” Frigga swayed where she stood and Thor jumped to his feet to steady his mother.

“He crossed Heimdall's sight today. Loki is alive,” Odin repeated in the same steadfast tone. There was a glimmer of joy in his remaining eye that only she could see.

“Is he well?” Frigga asked, her grip tight on Thor's hand, nearly bruising. “Is he well, Allfather?” her tone demanding when her husband didn't reply at once.

“He is whole,” Odin replied carefully.

“Where is he?” Thor scarcely dared to believe his father's words for the joy they would bring if they were true and devastation should they prove false.

“Midgard,” a grimace passed Odin's features.

“What?” had that tiny, insignificant planet become a refuge for gods? Frigga bristled in annoyance. The darkness that had shrouded her before was now lifted and the queen was awash with many emotions.

Midgard was not a place they had thought of in quite a few centuries. To be honest, it had become a topic of conversation recently and only because upon revision she and Odin had deemed it a safe enough place for Thor's banishment. Of all the nine realms it was one that was the least.. _in everything._ It was a ground that gods and frost giants had done battle on – Frigga believed that it was a period in their history called the Ice Age. Midgard was an apple of discord that emerged in every state level conversation whenever anyone grew too tired of peace and order. It was... Nothing.

And while Thor had placed that world under his protection - it was an indulgence both she and Odin allowed. Though to tell the truth, she hadn't paid the matter much more thought than that until now – she had been too overtaken by grief. Knowing Midgard's history she judged that her golden son had found a more cunning way to get the battles that he so longed to fight. For surely those restless of quiet and plenty always found their way there and destruction followed. Midgard was a playground for gods and other beings. But why was Loki there? For all his mischief, Loki did not yearn for battle like Thor. And she knew her son would have found welcome on any other realm, save Jötunheimr. That is unless he were to reveal his heritage to them, and she dreaded that he might.

Either he had had no other option or.. Frigga sighed as realization dawned upon her. _He means to challenge his brother._

She did not doubt that her sons loved one another – even though at times she wondered if that affection ran deeper than the obvious. The Vanir twins Freyja and Freyr had been quite a scandal in Vanaheimr, though less for their relationship, considering that their parents were siblings, rather more for their volatile tempers. At least the romance had sorted out the quarrel of succession among the twins. And Frigga would be lying if she had not considered if Asgard should have a similar solution, though as much as the brothers quarreled and as big as the rivalry between them was – Loki had never shown much interest in the throne for all that he was better suited for it.

“I shall go after him at once!” Thor exclaimed, but paused midway out of the room. The Bifrost was gone. How was he to get to Midgard?

“I should go,” Frigga said when Thor paused. “I have much to explain to him. And much to apologize for,” the pointed look she gave Odin said that the Allfather had no less to atone for.

“No,” Odin disagreed. “Thor should be the one to go.”

Frigga's eyes narrowed. If Odin was counting upon brotherly affection then he was surely forgetting that the other half of the equation was a rivalry that many a song had tried to describe. She could guess that her husband hoped that Thor as Loki's closest companion could be the one to persuade him to return, but Odin seemed to miss the fact that Loki's problem was not with his brother. Though Frigga admitted that she will have a few choice words with him about the manner with which he chose to restore Thor's godhood. He shouldn't have teased his brother so.

She was glad beyond belief that her son was alive so she could be annoyed with him.

And then it dawned on her why Odin would want Thor to be the one to go above all reasons. “I can't believe you!” she raged, moving closer to her husband to burn him with her glare. “You still hope to pretend that nothing has changed! You hope Loki has forgotten just as you hope to bury the truth again!”

How could her husband be so blind? She knew, of course, that he was reluctant to acknowledge Loki as anything else but his – she had been met with a resolute wall of silence every time over the centuries that she had tried to approach him with the idea that _perhaps_ they should let Loki learn of his true heritage. She wasn't a fool, she knew that the truth was wrought with dangers. But as everything stood now – they might lose their son anyway. Why should they continue his anguish with their silence? Did Odin Allseeing not see that they were only hurting their boy?

Loki would _not_ forget what he had learned even if Odin could, even if Odin wished so. And Frigga was done trying this softly and gently. Her husband hadn't listened when it was a small matter, he _will_ listen to her now. She may be celebrated as a gentle and kind queen, but she was not without temper, and she was not one to be crossed for she could work up a rage that would put both her husband and her God of Thunder of a son to shame, especially, if a matter threatened her children.

“He doesn't know, does he?” she asked gesturing to Thor. “For I certainly didn't tell him, and I doubt you did!”

“There is nothing to tell,” Odin replied stiffly.

“Oh, for the roots, there isn't!” she cried out in anger and outrage. The queen gave herself to her fury just as she had given herself to her grief – fully.

“Loki is my son,” Odin growled, his single remaining eye blazing with equal rage. “There is nothing else to tell.”

Frigga gentled as swiftly as a sky cleared after a storm, but her resolve remained. “Of course he is,” she said softly. “As he is mine. But we do owe him the truth.”

“He told me I was not his brother,” Thor said frowning in doubt and for all the world looking like a lost little boy. Watching his parents quarrel was uncomfortable for him, all the more that he didn't know what they meant when they spoke. “When he pressed me to fight him. He said I was not his brother. Why?”

Frigga's smile was just a tad sad as she answered, “Because you do not share the same blood. He was born on Jötunheimr in the last days of war. Your father found him abandoned in a temple and brought him home to us. He's been our son and your brother ever since.” It felt good to speak the truth.

“What are you saying?” Thor was confused, all the more because he didn't want to believe what he was hearing.

“Your brother is a Jötunn by birth,” Frigga replied softly and carefully, watching her son carefully for his reaction.

Thor's reaction, however, was not one that could have been guessed or foreseen. Frigga may have expected anger, or denouncements. She expected feelings of betrayal and she dreaded hate. Though she believed that her sons could never hate each other for long. She had done _that_ right. She had raised them right. However what Thor actually did – nonplussed her.

“Loki? A Jötunn?” Thor roared with laughter. “I would have believed many a thing, but not that,” he laughed so hard, he bent at the middle and rested his hands against his knees. “'Tis a good joke,” he said wiping his face from tears of mirth. “I almost believed you,” he sighed in relief as he laughed again.

“'Tis true,” Odin said heavily.

“No..,” Thor protested, fresh tears of laughter in his eyes. He hadn't laughed like this since before he fell to Midgard. “Is _mother_ a Jötunn then also? Surely, it can't be you father, you're too short for even a small Giant!” his laughter roared and in distance a thunder rumbled.

“Thor,” Frigga spoke her son's name like a command. “We are not jesting and this is no lie.”

Thor's laugh caught in his throat. He coughed a bit, as he straightened, his heart seemingly plummeting to his heels. “What? How can that be?” but a moment later he shook his head, frowning, and dismissing the question, “Does Loki know? Wait.. He must. He said as much. _When?_ ” he asked intensely. “When did you tell him?”

“We didn't tell him,” Odin ground out as if every word was a hard challenge. A toad to swallow.

“I believe he found out by accident,” Frigga continued softly when her husband didn't. “During your raid on Jötunheimr.”

“By the roots,” Thor gasped, “It was my fault,” he whispered aghast. “All of this. All that happened afterward – it was my fault.”

“No,” Frigga rushed to him and for the first time since Loki's death drew her son in a hug. “No,” she assured him. “There are many parts to this and many to blame. Loki not in the least,” she was forgiving, she was not blind to the faults of those that were dearest to her heart. As she withdrew from Thor she glanced at Odin and spoke the next words solely for the king, “Nor certainly the most.”

“There is more that you mean than you say,” Thor said, his gaze fixed on his mother. It was so hard to believe that Loki was not hers. Nor Odin's. If one of the Odinssons had to be a Frost Giant, Thor would have bet it was himself – he was very nearly large enough. Loki had so much of their mother's wisdom and the magic – he learned his from her. Even now as Frigga spoke, Thor sensed that there was more to her words, as ever with Loki. Loki couldn't have been more Frigga's son if he'd been born of her.

“Your brother was very upset when he learned the truth of his origins,” Frigga started.

“Aye, he tried to destroy Jötunheimr,” Thor noted dryly.

“Yes,” Frigga grimaced. She did not want to think about the fallout of that if it was ever to be public knowledge that Loki himself was a Jötunn. More than that she feared who might try to claim him as theirs if that happened. She would fight for him even if it meant a war of nations, but he was no longer a child, and she feared she might not even get the chance to do battle for him. Loki might choose to walk away on his own. “That among other things.”

“He tried to kill me,” Thor added without heat. “Though I do not think he meant it. As there would have been more effective ways and he is ever so effective in all he does.”

“Your mortal body's impending death is what returned Mjölnir to you,” Frigga replied wiping the last of the tear trails from her face, growing back into her stature as a majestic queen.

“What?” Thor gasped, genuinely surprised and shaken. “I thought I had proven myself worthy by sacrificing myself!”

“You were always full of honor,” Odin finally spoke up. “It was your wisdom and your heart I doubted. Unless you were in danger, you were to live a mortal life to know how it is to be weaker and lesser. To learn how it is when years pile on your shoulders and they have weight of an ocean. I hoped that a lifetime as a mortal would teach what eons as a god did not.”

Thor paused. Not as much to consider his father's words, but because this had to be the longest speech the Allfather had made in a very long time. To think about it – this conversation was the longest one they'd had in years. “Did Loki know that?” Thor asked finally.

“That I do not know,” Frigga replied.

“Yet you meant to confess something else,” Thor was not as simple as his brother liked to portray him. In all truth, when it came to anything related to Loki, Thor was remarkably astute. “What else has he done?”

Frigga was unsure if she should speak for Loki. Perhaps she should let her boys talk it out amongst themselves, but then she didn't want to wait and watch as they waged war against each other until too exhausted to battle which is when they would, perhaps, finally speak the truth to each other. Loki had retreated too far from her reach at the moment, but perhaps his brother still had the power to bludgeon through all of the younger prince's illusions. Besides, it wouldn't do for any of her sons to think that they have passed beyond her understanding. She had raised them. She could read any of them like an open book. “The coronation.”

Thor had to think only for a moment, “He? He let in the Giants? Why? Why, that was before he knew he was one of them! Why would he do that?” For all the storm that had gathered outside, Thor deflated from his indignation. “Does he not love me?”

Frigga stepped closer to comfort her eldest, “He loves you, my dear. I know he does.”

“But then why would he do that?” Thor couldn't keep hurt from his voice. “That was to be my most glorious day!”

“You were to become king,” Frigga said softly and Thor was left with an impression that she was edging him towards an answer that he did not grasp.

“You were not ready,” Odin spoke when the silence lasted.

“You did not think so,” Thor argued, glancing up from his mother, feeling angered. Betrayals and secrets! There was too much of that in this family! An angry lightening flashed outside. Growling thunder followed shaking the window panes.

Odin didn't reply. The truth is, he hadn't seen the truth as he should have. He'd been proud of his golden son, and tired of his kingship. He'd been as eager to pass the throne as Thor had been to receive it. They both had been wrong. Odin would not admit that out loud. For all that he would not have listened should Loki have chosen to speak his doubts – the youngest prince also hadn't elected the best course of action. None were blameless.

“Do you think you were? When you look back at that moment now?” Frigga asked carefully, turning her son's face to her. Her tone was delicate just as her touch. She could be as gentle as furious, but the fight has passed and now only mending remained. And she had always been better at mending. She paid no mind to the storm outside.

“No,” Thor lowered his gaze as he admitted his shame. The rain let up and the hail stopped.

“Don't be ashamed,” Frigga spoke softly. “It takes so much more courage to admit to mistakes than to make heroic sacrifices. For the first – you know you'll have to live after,” her arched eyebrow told her son that should he ever foolishly – _not live after_ – she would first go to Valhalla to make his afterlife miserable and _then_ go to the Norns. To restore him and to make his living equally dreadful.

Thor looked at his mother. His expression just short of desolate. It was clear that neither her words nor implications cheered him.

“It becomes easier,” she consoled.

Thor nodded, but didn't accept any more comfort. He stepped away and towards his father. “Now, may I be the one to go after my brother?” the entreaty for permission was just figurative. He _intended_ to go after Loki, however before Odin could reply Thor turned on his heel as a fear of sorts struck him, “Or are there any other secrets that he might use as daggers against me?”

His brother was skilled at using words as weapons and Thor could not afford to be taken by surprise. He knew he had to meet his brother's fury with the same calm his mother always met their temper tantrums. He had to be the elder one for once. He had to manage Loki for a change, when Loki had always managed _his_ outbursts of godly indignation. Thor had nightmares every night of how his brother let go of the spear and fell to the depths of the void. The storm outside was clearing – the expression on the god's face – not so much.

“If there is aught else then it's for him to confess,” Frigga replied steadily.

Thor nodded in acceptance, but another thought came to him. “Who are his true parents?”

“We are,” Odin growled.

Thor swallowed heavily. “That is not what I meant, father,” he said cautiously.

“I heard what you meant,” Odin replied unwilling to give an inch. If there was one matter he was adamant about – it was this. If he could erase the very fact that Loki had ever had different parents – he would have done so long ago.

“We do not know, son,” Frigga lied easily. “Your father found him abandoned.” No one but her saw relief in Odin's one remaining eye. Truth, she had wanted. But perhaps not all truth, and not right away.

“Very well then,” Thor nodded believing her. “Father, is there a way to get me to Midgard without the Bifrost?” he did not ask again if it will be him who goes. For all that he had learned – he needed to see his brother all the more.

“Yes,” Odin replied shortly. It would be complicated and Thor would need the Tesseract to return, but Odin could make the journey happen.

 


	3. How To Welcome A God

There was a soft click as the catch slid in the frame and Erik sighed in undiluted relief. He slumped against the door for a moment of rest. He breathed deep trying to calm his racing heart. At the moment he didn't even care that the old fashioned door had a glass panel and his guest could probably see him pressing up against it. He felt he had earned his moment of weak knees.

“Everything okay, doc?”

Erik startled. He hadn't noticed Hawkeye standing there, leaning against the wall, just a few steps away. For all Selvig knew, the agent could blend with environment so well he could disappear in plain sight. As it was, Hawk always made the doctor feel uneasy. “Where's director Fury?” Erik asked as soon as it didn't feel like his heart would fall out of his throat and on the floor as soon as he opened his mouth.

“He's coming,” Hawkeye replied, utterly unmoved.

Erik didn't know how the agent had known that without checking – perhaps he had been in previous contact with the director – but sure enough, Erik barely gathered enough of a breath for next question as Fury rounded the nearest corner. “I need an expert on Norse mythology,” Erik managed, addressing the director.

“And I need an explanation,” Fury replied without missing a beat.

Erik stood up straighter and nodded, “Yes, of course.” Then he looked around – they couldn't as well have that conversation in the same room with their alien guest. And a corridor didn't seem a very appropriate place either, however he didn't think that the director's indulgence would stretch much longer. “If we could find a room..”

“That one's free and clean,” Hawkeye pointed with his thumb towards a door across from the wall he was leaning on. The name plate on the door announced it to be a cabinet of Doctor Layla Maynard, and inside it was a mess from the rapid evacuation, but it was free of any surveillance devices.

Erik nodded his thanks and agreement, “Yes. Now. Director?” Though the doctor had no idea what Hawkeye had meant by clean when he glimpsed the state of the room. He awkwardly waited by the door just as Fury gave Hawk orders to continue keeping watch on their unknown guest.

“I've got the perimeter locked down, boss,” the agent replied, still slouching against the wall. “He's not going anywhere.”

“Good,” and his coat swishing around his legs Fury entered the cabinet, rounding on Selvig as soon as doors closed, “Now, might you finally explain to me,” his calm tone belied the fact that he was both annoyed and angry, “just what the hell happened there?”

Every written and unwritten protocol had been broken. They might not have much of a protocol dealing with first contact situations with aliens, but they did have protocols dealing with first contact situations with unknown forces. Especially when that unknown force had breached the innermost level of their most top secret facility. And while Fury did not expect his scientists, especially ones acquired from outside rather than nurtured inside S.H.I.E.L.D., to know all these details, he did expect them to comply.

“With all due respect, director, you weren't there when Thor first arrived,” this wasn't how Eric had planned to start this, but those were the first words that tumbled out of his mouth when he thought of it. And he knew why. Just as he knew why he had felt a burning need to interfere. Jane had believed Thor. She had allowed for the possibility that he was telling the truth from the first moments. Erik hadn't. He had most certainly learned from that mistake.

Fury motioned for Selvig to continue.

“Thor is a friend of Earth now, but then? When he first arrived, I thought he was dangerous. And that was when I thought he was just a man like any other,” Erik swallowed heavily. It was hard to admit that after all this time, he still felt lingering fear from his encounter with gods and the Destroyer. Selvig motioned towards the room where their guest was resting, “That one sitting there? We have no idea what he's capable of. Or whether he shares Thor's love for Earth and humans. It's quite within reason that he wouldn't.” Erik took a deep breath that didn't calm him. He shuddered recalling the flippant manner in which the being called him _mortal._

“All the more reason to proceed with caution,” Fury was steadfast.

“Exactly,” Erik agreed fervently before finally getting to the crux of the matter. “That's why I welcomed him here. So for better or worse under the rules of sacred hospitality – he _can't_ hurt us.”

Fury was expressionless so doctor Selvig would be unable to tell a difference – but the good doctor had managed to astound Nick Fury. It was a moment before Fury spoke again, trying to clarify the matter, “You mean to say that just because of crackers – he's harmless to us?”

Erik nearly bristled. It was hard to discern, but he could guess that the director was doubting him at best and making fun of him at worst. “I wouldn't say _harmless._ Not at all. I believe him to be very dangerous,” Selvig clarified, unsatisfied that the director wasn't grasping the situation quite as he was.

“So do I,” Fury added pointedly.

“But by welcoming him here I set out a certain protocol. I'm not sure how binding it is and we do need that expert on Norse mythology to guide us in that protocol, but if we succeed.. ” Erik was grasping at straws. He didn't like the feeling of being at the very edge of understanding, but he would kiss his grandmother's hands for giving him the little advantage that he had in this situation. He was an astrophysicist not a specialist in legends and fairy tales. “Then under those rules – he is our guest and he can't act to hurt us.”

Fury nodded noncommittally. “If he's a friend then there's no harm in this and if he's not then at least we had the time to evacuate the facility,” _and the weapons._ Fury voiced out loud what he guessed was Selvig's train of thought.

“Yes, well, but with this we can turn him into a friend. Of sorts,” Erik felt compelled to add though it was more of a guess than anything he knew for certain.

“There must be some other side to this.”

“There is,” Erik grimaced. He knew that the next part would not be received well, “He is effectively under our care and protection.”

Fury drew in deep breath before reigning down on Selvig, “So on behalf of this planet you just _might_ have given asylum to a madman?”

“Yes,” Erik admitted haltingly. “But.. But isn't it better to have a madman that can't act to destroy us even if we must care for him rather than a madman who would kill us all?” he asked sharply.

“We'll see,” Fury said shortly and turned on his heel as he left, he did pause by the door for a second, “You will have your expert.”

“Thank you,” Erik shouted after Fury. “Thank you,” he breathed, relieved.

As he exited he found that Hawkeye was still there, leaning on a wall as if everything was alright in his world, and nothing unusual was going on. “Depends on the madman,” Hawkeye said.

“What?” Erik replied without understanding. He shook his his head a little as if that would help gather his scattered thoughts.

“Answer to your question,” Hawkeye shrugged.

“Oh,” Erik breathed as he dismissed the agent's words. He looked around, unsure where to go yet. There was so much to do – he had hardly any idea with what to start. He needed that expert first. He also had no idea where and how Fury would get him one.

“Why did you do that?” Hawkeye asked a moment later.

“Did what?” Erik snapped back sharper than he intended. His nerves were frayed, his composure not at it's best. Hawk didn't seem to mind his rudeness.

“The welcoming thing,” Hawkeye elaborated. “You could have let us shoot him up if he acted out.”

Erik was silent for a long moment as he considered his answer. “Because I was afraid,” he finally admitted. “Very, very afraid.”

There was a noise and both their gazes were drawn to the window in the door. Erik could only guess if their guest knew if he was being watched or not, but they gazed in wonder as Loki stared at a vending machine before extending his hand and in small puff of green smoke a snicker's bar appeared on his palm. Another one soundlessly slid in the place of the one lost in the machine.

“And if he's anything like Thor,” Erik spoke still staring at the green clad stranger, “No guns would have helped you,” he shook his head slightly before giving Hawk a rueful smile as he decided to go to his office.

“Let's hope the director agrees,” Hawkeye muttered as he watched the doctor walking away.

**LOH**

Fury appeared silent as a shadow on Selvig's doorstep. “Follow me, doctor,” he ordered in clipped tones.

Erik grabbed a few conclusions he had put down on pages and data charts that he thought might prove valuable, and scrambled to follow the director. It had been half an hour since his conversation with Fury and Erik wondered if the director had somehow already gotten hold of a specialist they needed. He sincerely hoped so, because they could keep their guest waiting for only so long.

Truth be told – Erik was uneasy. He had acted with best intentions, but he had the impression from director that he was on thin ice. Erik knew, of course, that he had breached protocol and, well, _stupid_ was all around a good word to describe how his actions might look from sidelines, but he knew, he knew he had done the right thing. He had no idea how, but he knew that while he might be in the proverbial doghouse now with S.H.I.E.L.D, it was better than the alternative.

That's not to say that he wasn't also concerned about his sudden assurance. He couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with Tesseract itself. He had spent a lot of time with it and it _was_ a powerful energy resource. More than that, he suspected. Would it be so unbelievable if it had affected him somehow? Nudged him in the right direction? It's not like they knew fully the technology they were dealing with.

“Doctor Tom Evensen is a specialist in Norse Mythology from University of Bergen,” Fury explained as a way of introductions, as he lead Erik inside an empty conference room. The conference call line was already open.

“Yes? Hello?” Evensen spoke up hearing somebody at the other end of the line.

Erik thought he heard fatigue in the other man's voice, but after a quick calculation, he judged it to be understandable. If it was evening here in New Mexico, it was middle of the night in Norway. “Hello, I'm doctor Erik Selvig,” he introduced himself.

Either Fury had been introduced previously or he judged it unimportant. He said, “What can you tell us about the custom of hospitality, doctor?”

“Well, it's _sacred_ hospitality,” Tom replied gathering his wits, as he had been awoken in the middle of the night by a call that would not stop ringing and personal plea from the minister of culture. “It was very important to the Vikings. It was one of the Nine Noble Virtues, though the term was coined much later on. Nonetheless being welcoming and hospitable is one of the guiding moral principles in a viking's life. It is in fact considered a grave faux pass not to be hospitable to a visitor. Just as it would be a grave insult to tell someone that they are not good hosts. Not giving a welcome can go as far as be considered an offense.”

“A serious offense?” Fury asked.

“Very,” Tom affirmed. “After all, as the stories go, you may never know who is your guest. You might happen to offend a god!” Evensen laughed at a joke. Fury and Selvig just shared a look and not the humor.

“Then how would you..” Fury seemed to mull over the next words before spitting them out, “.. greet a god? Hypothetically?”

Evensen was quite for a short moment. “Give him the best you have. A meal. Clothes. A safe place to stay. Comfort. Entertainment is something traditionally a guest would provide, so I'm not sure about that. Most lore on the subject is of ordinary people as visitors even if they're incognito gods and it's mostly the generosity of the heart and goodness of the soul that matter,” he said. “The very core of it is – never turn a traveler away. Ah, give me a moment.. ”

There was a sound of piles of papers falling and some shuffling. Screech of a chair dragging along floor.

“Are you alright, doctor?” Fury asked, only somewhat concerned. He had team with eyes on doctor Evensen, and they had yet to report anything unusual.

“Yes, yes, just give me a moment,” the voice was distant. Tom returned to the call fully a few minutes later, “Now. I can quote you the full text that describes all the necessities..”

“No,” Fury said quickly. “Just give us the list as you best understand it.”

“Fire – meaning warmth and comfort, food and clothes.. I said that already, now.. Water, towel so that he could wash. Hearty welcome. Goodwill – I said that already too, talk and answer..” Tom trailed off, muttering in Norwegian as he was reading the text before translating and adapting. He was of course familiar with it, but viking hospitality wasn't a topic broad or interesting enough to study it on it's own. It was important in conjecture.

“What kind of talk?” Fury interrupted.

“Anything, really,” Evensen replied swiftly. “Local gossip, philosophy. Matters of the heart – depends on the host and the guest.”

“Very well,” Fury's tone belied nothing of his thoughts. “What else?”

“Well. I shall quote you Hávamál,” Tom said. “It is important,” he hastened to add before Fury could interrupt.

“ _Thou must never_

_Mock or laugh at_

_A guest or wayfarer._

_Scoff not at the guest_

_Nor drive him to the door;_

_Be kind to the poor._ ”

Both Fury and Selvig were quite for a moment as the information sank in. Erik felt vindicated with the fact that it would have been a grave insult not to welcome their visitor. Fury was concerned with the fact that this whole hospitality business seemed very binding on _his_ end. He could always arrange for an army of babysitters to care for their unknown problem, but he very much doubted that that was what their visitor had in mind. _Oh, no._ Whoever their guest was, Fury was sure that he was looking for trouble.

All Fury hoped was to find out how much trouble so that he could deal with it. He also guessed well enough that whatever was about to come crashing on their heads had something to do with the Tesseract. He should have known that that wouldn't end well, but Earth needed ways to defend itself against – well, precisely situations such as this. He couldn't help but think that this whole welcome business was either a blind goose chase or a factor in a bigger game. He almost wished it was the former, because he couldn't yet grasp workings of the latter.

“Are there any ritual words to say? Some specific phrasing of the welcome?” Selvig asked, curious.

Evensen huffed. “No,” he said. “All talk of that is pseudo science. There is no specific acknowledged and discovered written or other kind of artifact that would indicate that there ever was need for such a thing. Though I admit there are plenty of those even in the academic society who believe such nonsense.”

Erik had to bite his tongue not to mention that he had an artifact sitting in the rec room and demanding those customs.

“Indulge us, doctor,” Fury ordered softly.

“We welcome you to our home and hearth. What is ours to give is yours to have. The protection of our house be it upon you. No harm or ill shall befall you while you're under this roof. You're safe within our halls,” annoyance was clear in the doctor's tone, “It differs whom you ask, but the gist is all the same.”

“We ask you,” Fury noted.

“Yes, well, and I say that it is nonsense,” Evensen replied.

“But if you had to greet a guest with a ritual. What would you say?” Fury asked drawing patience from his nearly limitless well of self restraint developed in long years in dealings with petty politicians and annoying geniuses.

There was silence for a while. “Well. I would try to incorporate all of the most important elements and present them in a humble manner.

_The door is open in welcome_

_To he who has come_

_There is warmth_

_To be found by our hearth_

_Safety under our roof_

_Food and clothing_

_Drying and friendly bidding_

_Marks of good will, fair fame if 'tis won_

_And welcome once again._ ”

Erik scribbled hurriedly to get it all down in writing. “Anything else?”

“One last thing,” Evensen said. “There is also a general rule of a guest not overstaying his welcome. Three days is the usual limit.”

“Thank you, doctor Eversen,” Fury said and ended the call. He straightened and then paused. “So...” he drawled. “A gourmet meal in medieval style. And a poetry hour. That's what we need to settle this?”

“Well, that is the short of it, but yes,” Erik agreed putting the last dot in his notes.

“Well, then, let's get this done.”

**LOH**

The cars and the helicopters took equipment and people off the top secret energy and research facility Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. Every department had a different allocated location where they were either to wait for further orders or change transport and travel further. Support personnel were among those that sat twiddling their thumbs and awaiting the verdict – was it end of the world or not yet.

Jerry was the Chef of the facility and as he sat, leaning against a crate on a seemingly abandoned, old runway that S.H.I.E.L.D. used, he smoked and contemplated that this wasn't exactly bad. Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. had completely different ideas than he did about what was an exciting opportunity for a Chef.

Then there was a helicopter with headlights blazing right into his eyes and destroying his moment of relaxation. He grumbled as he threw down the cigarette and stomped on it. “Orders?” he asked walking up to the agent that jumped out of the helicopter.

“You're needed back,” the woman said.

“So the world didn't end?” he quipped, but her facade didn't even crack.

Maria Hill was not amused. Director Fury had sent her out to get their Chef back – he will finally have a chance to show off his lauded skills in the kitchen. They finally had a guest to impress. But overall – she didn't like the situation at all. She would feel so much more comfortable if their trespasser would be in one of the cells (of which there were plenty in P.E.G.A.S.U.S.) rather than indulged with dinner. She trusted the director's judgment, but it all still rankled, she hoped it wouldn't blow up in Fury's face.

“Take whatever men or equipment you need. We can carry up to twenty tons.”

“So we're not all going back?” Jerry frowned.

“No,” Maria was short and sharp with her answers.

“Oookay,” Jerry drawled feeling like he was hitting a brick wall with Agent Hill. “Anything else I need to know?”

“You'll have your chance to cook a feast,” she replied watching as he was already checking the details on crates and gesturing to which ones he needed back with him.

“Really?” he raised his eyebrows in surprise. What kind of disaster they had that they needed a Chef to solve it? He had long since given up on any chance for glory – either Greek legend type or culinary. “Any specifics?”

Maria was silent for so long he almost thought she wouldn't reply, but finally she said, “You know anything about a Viking menu?”

Jerry stopped mid-gesture to stare at her. “We'll need to hit some shops first, then.”

As they were flying over the desert with crates underneath the helicopter – neither Maria nor Jerry and his support staff said anything when over the sound of rotors turning was unmistakable mooing.

After they unloaded, Jerry had tasked one of his assistants with overseeing that everything got where everything needed to get, and he set to work to the more intricate details. There was a duck roasting in one oven. A chick in another. Jerry himself worked on a sauce as he oversaw all that the cooks nearest to him were doing. He managed to give instructions just as he was cutting up dried plums.

“How come you never cook like that for us?” Maria asked, mildly curious. She had no other task at the moment, so she stood at a corner of the table and watched the mad hustle and bustle in a kitchen that had been empty not five minutes ago.

Jerry grinned as he threw in the plums with the rest, “You say you would appreciate grilled duck with cherry-onion filling which was the favorite food of René of Anjou or, perhaps,” he ground all the ingredients into mush, “a braised rabit with dried plums and cedar nuts which was served at the wedding feast of Isabeau of Bavaria?”

All Maria recognized was that the royals (she presumed them to be royals) were not contemporary. “I suppose not,” she replied. “Where are the cows?” she asked a moment later.

She wished she hadn't when Jerry took her to the great furnaces they usually used as incinerators and showed that they had been restyled as great ovens. When Jerry saw one of his assistants checking the meat of the cow with the end of a broomstick he went off cursing, and Maria suspected that among all, she heard something like - _“I could've been in Paris right now!”_

 


	4. Of Feasts And Talks

“The lamb was especially tender and the sea buckthorn sauce delicious, my compliments to the Chef,” Loki noted lounging in his chair like a king on a throne. He surveyed the lavish feast in front of him – there were at least a dozen different meat dishes not counting the cow which amused him every time he looked at it. He counted at least six different dishes of fish and a plenty of different plates – for fruits and cheeses, and grilled vegetables. The wines weren't half bad either. Loki enjoyed the whites particularly.

“Now,” Fury put his palms together having finished with his meal, “We've dined. We've wined. As the saying goes – now would be the time for you to put out.”

“Put out.. What exactly?” either Loki did not understand the colloquialism, which was likely, or he pretended very well that he didn't. He sampled a different wine and threw an amused glance at the grilled cow. The feast that had been put in front of him was nothing short of marvelous though probably more suited to his brother's tastes. Of the two of them it was always Thor whose belly seemed to be bottomless. Loki was a much lighter eater, but he certainly appreciated the effort put into this. It seemed that the humans were indeed serious about being hospitable for all that they had no idea what to say or do.

He hid his smile behind the rim of the glass remembering how at the beginning of the feast director Fury had recited a rather lovely welcoming poem to him. It was of course as far off courtly protocol as only a mortal could be, but having played this game thus far, Loki had graciously accepted their offer. He wondered if they realized yet that what they knew was utter rubbish or not. At the very least, though, it was all very amusing. He could almost see why his brother was so taken with mortals. After all – it takes one fool to know another.

This was almost worth throwing over the Chitauri. Now, _that_ was a problem Loki supposed he would have to deal with sooner or later. He guessed that the Titan was going to be ever so angry with him, but then again Loki found it hard to imagine how much of a fool Thanus had to have been if he hadn't allowed for this possibility. The only reason Loki ever began their partnership was to end the torture. There is only so much even a god can take. The whole – flaying and skewering thing does get old after a while, but what had been the worst of it was the propaganda the Other kept spewing. Loki would have done just about anything to get Other to shut up.

Loki most certainly did not tremble as he recalled the long months in the darkness of the void.

“You said your name is Loki?” Fury asked and unknown to him his voice brought Loki back down to Earth and his attention to the table.

“That's what my mother said,” Loki drawled and rotated the glass of wine, dangling it at the very edge of his fingertips. He watched, fascinated, as wine swirled in the glass. “But I've recently discovered she's quite a talented liar so who knows. I might be a Jim or something of the sorts,” the grin he directed at Fury was nothing short of wicked, though at the same time he betrayed that he had at least a cursory understanding of Earth.

His expression betrayed none of the thoughts relating to his family. _Not my family._

Fury didn't raise to the bait and he didn't bat an eyelash at the humor either. Due to crash course in Norse mythology he was aware of what Loki was, at least according to the Vikings though he did take reports written six hundred years ago with a grain of salt. Nonetheless he had an idea who he was dealing with. Viking edition of Tony Stark. With godlike powers.

“Let's stop beating about the bush, Mister Loki..,” Fury started and Erik almost spat out a duck as he hurried to say something to the director, but Loki himself interrupted first.

“God.”

“Excuse me?” Fury raised his eyebrows. He did want to hear this out loud – for the record.

“I will, but just this time,” Loki conceded graciously.

Fury stared at him blankly.

“I'm a _god,_ you dull being,” Loki said annoyed, but there was no real heat behind his tone. He took another sip of the wine.

Fury raised an eyebrow and made a show of consulting some notes. For all the world – he was utterly unimpressed with the revelation that he was dining with a deity. “Yes. Of course. Here you are,” he pointed at a section in his notes. “Shouldn't you be bound by entrails of your son until the end of the world? Or did I miss that?”

“Fairytales of mortals,” Loki sniffed and put down his glass. He didn't even have child, much less several.

Fury made a note that Loki had probably pissed off the historian. He was not surprised. If he put Natasha up to creating a psychological profile of this guy, he had no doubt it would be as messed up as Stark's. But altogether it was not Fury's problem at all, he had only one interest in this. “What are your objectives in coming to earth?”

“They _were_ to conquer,” Loki replied easily, somewhat wishing that he could eat more, but knowing that he couldn't possibly. After the atrocious coffee he had not expected anything half as grand as this and it stroked his ego that it had been provided.

Food was scarce in the void. He'd lived off of his magic more than anything else, and what he had eaten he cared not to recall. The thought alone would be enough to turn his stomach. And it would be unfitting for a god to puke his guts out at his own dinner table. So Loki resigned himself to sipping wine for the rest of the night, it wasn't likely to inebriate him. Though under normal circumstances he might have even tackled the grilled cow. After all, while Thor was the more ravenous of the two of them, Loki could work up an appetite of a god as well.

“And they _are?_ ” Fury was unflappable.

“To enjoy your hospitality, of course,” Loki grinned devilishly. He looked at Erik. “Quite clever. Quite interesting,” he judged before shifting his gaze to Nick Fury, “not so much.”

“And how did you plan to conquer us?”

“Hmm,” Loki leaned back in his chair and shifted putting one leg over the other. He pretended to mull the matter over. “Should I tell you?”

“It is polite to inform your host of impending danger,” Erik spoke up – of the three of them sharing this dinner, he was the only one who wasn't done with his meal yet. “That's what the whole section about goodwill and friendly bidding is all about, isn't it?”

Loki rolled his eyes. It was too early to tell them that their version of an Asgardian or any other kind of ritualistic welcome was a sham. Oh, it had worked well enough. Because he had allowed it. The magic binding them had grown rather solid, but as strong and compelling it might be to mortals or other less developed beings to Loki it was barely an itch. Aside from the threat from Norns, but what could they do to ruin his life? He had done well enough on his own, thank you very much.

Sometimes he wished he was as ignorant as Thor. Life would certainly be easier. Point a hammer and set loose.

Still the mortal had a point. Not the one still eating, but the one who represented Midgard. Fury. Loki guessed that the man wanted to know his plan so that he could prepare for contingencies, what the man could not guess was that Loki had adjusted his plans the moment he had paused a moment too long on that platform. For better or worse at the moment Loki actually _did_ need these mortals, because Chitauri would be coming. He had no doubt about that. And that meant that he had to play along for a while as a domesticated god and feed the children information with a spoon.

Loki sighed as if this was a great hardship for him to explain elementary things to so simple beings. “With an army, of course.”

“Where is this army now?” if anything the god said threw Fury for a loop, it never showed.

“I know not where,” Loki shrugged carelessly.

He truly didn't, but what he failed to explain was that it wasn't important. The army was in the void and it was utterly of no consequence where exactly in the void, because the Tesseract would open a doorway to their exact location wherever that might be. The only upside of having a Chitauri army had been the fact that they could be dropped off anywhere without any notice in a surprise attack. Loki had counted on the fact that even a stupid army could win if they had the element of surprise and superior numbers.

“Then how were you planning to use it to conquer Earth?”

Loki looked at Fury and his look showed that he was utterly disappointed. “By bringing it here, of course.”

“How?”

Loki was not going to answer that. Not because he felt it was a particular trade secret, but because of how obvious the answer was. He had resolved to inform them of the situation – so to speak – after all, if they were to provide him shelter and all the other things they had promised in so lovely a prose, he might as well make sure they put up a hell of a fight for him. But there _were_ limits. He poured the rest of the wine from his glass on the floor and a new bottle from the middle of the table appeared in his hand with a snap of his fingers. This time it was a red.

Loki didn't particularly like red wines, because they tended to color the mouth if one drank too much and while Volstagg might not care how terribly the violet on his mouth clashed with the furnace red of his beard – Loki did not enjoy it when his mouth looked like somebody had poured a whole ink pot in it. Besides reds were so much thicker and heavier than whites. Loki generally liked his wines light and rich with flavor. However Midgardians were a tough bit to swallow and that asked for a drink that might distaste his tongue as much as they turned the rest of his senses.

“The Tesseract!” Erik cried out a while later.

Loki clapped balancing his glass on his knee. Fury frowned, however. The director had had the artifact shipped out of the facility nearly immediately after Loki's arrival. It should be safe under heavy guard and Coulson's supervision and en route to another safe facility. One askew look at the decadent god, though, gave Fury doubts.

“Might we expect that army anyway?”

“Chitauri are a race of handicapped mongrels bred for war,” Loki said carelessly paying more attention to the red wine that he swirled and smelled before tasting. “Quite similar to warriors of Asgard,” he couldn't resist a gibe that would annoy Heimdall. He knew that the gatekeeper was watching, but to his annoyance there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He had not the strength to pull a veil over himself to shield him from peering eyes. The void and his experience with Thanos and the Other had taxed him more than he would like to admit. It had nearly killed him, in fact. “But even they can follow a marked path.”

“When?” Fury's tone was sharp – first notable show of emotion. He didn't have to ask who had marked that path.

“Soon,” Loki shrugged as if he couldn't care less. _Too soon,_ is what he thought, though.

“What can we expect of them?”

“What do you expect of warriors?” Loki's tone was deceptively gentle, his expression nearly compassionate. “Death.”

“You would have lead them to kill all the people on this planet?” Erik asked, astounded and strangely hurt.

“No,” Loki said as if insulted, he even lowered his legs and sat up straighter. “Conquest means that a rule follows. I'm not keen on ruling over corpses. There are enough of enthusiasts of that kind,” he shrugged.

“Chitauri mean to burn you. All of you,” Loki said in a matter-of-fact tone, but he intended that as a warning. “I had meant to rule you,” he said a moment later as if that was a consolation, before conceding a point, “But most of you probably would have died anyway.”

Fury listened only for the important words. “ _Meant_ to rule? You don't _mean_ to anymore?”

There was a tense moment of silence. “Well, I've accepted you as my hosts and protectors, haven't I?”

“Apparently,” Fury drawled not even trying to disguise his doubts on the matter.

“I think this is a beginning of a beautiful relationship,” Loki grinned settling comfortably again. “If somewhat dysfunctional.”

**LOH**

Frigga had a reputation as a calm and gentle queen. It was a testament to her skill – she knew not only what to say to people, but how to make them hear what she wanted them to hear. The only rage she had ever shown in public had been in grief. But her husband knew that his queen had a bite as strong as the softest of her touches.

With the knowledge that her son was alive, Frigga had emerged from her grief, but she did not return to her previous state of lazy complacency. The long thousands of years she had lived in peace within the golden halls of Asgard with her family had dulled her in every sense – she had been completely unprepared for her world to be shaken at it's very foundations. For her family to be torn apart so suddenly and so viciously.

She had grown so used to the lie that she had forgotten that there was a truth beneath it. It had taken astonishingly small amount of time for her to stop feeling even a pang of guilt when hearing Fárbauti's name – surely a mother who had left her baby deserved the child no longer. And Frigga counted herself as a good mother, after all, she loved her boys unreservedly.

The only thing that had remained of her conscience in this matter was a sliver of fear, but she was so good at lying it was hardly an effort to lie to herself. However now the fear roared back into life like a great beast awoken from slumber. “What do you mean you told him?”

Odin did not like to feel chastised not even by his wife. Nonetheless he heard reproach in his spouse's tone and accepted it as his due. He stood with his back straight as his queen paced the length of the room in front of him. “I told Loki he is Laufey's son.”

It was not a moment he was proud of, but the anguish on his son's face had rattled Odin and confessions had just slipped out. He had grasped at facts trying to find the right words, the correct justification to appease Loki, but with his every next breath everything had unraveled even more. He never had the talent to speak as eloquently as his wife and youngest son could. And then he had collapsed under the onslaught of Loki's anger and hurt, and another chain of unfortunate events had unfolded.

“And when was that?” Frigga's tone rose higher in dismay. “Did you tell him who his mother is? Because he mentioned none of this to me when we spoke over your bed.”

“I remember,” Odin said. It was true what was said – Odin heard and saw in his dreams everything that went on in the world around him. It was never a clear memory – tainted with a dreamlike quality, but he had heard and seen nonetheless, powerless to act. Nightmares were all that he had gained from his last Odinssleep.

“He probably guesses,” Frigga continued, having barely paused. “Everyone knows about the lost crown prince of Jötunheimr. Missing and presumed dead in the last days of the war,” she turned on her heel to face her husband, “And it won't matter that we made him out to be older – _he'll know,_ ” Frigga stressed. “He'll know he is Fárbauti's son too.”

Odin sighed. He knew the truth in Frigga's words – Laufey did not have a reputation as a particularly loving father or husband, and it would not have been beyond the Giant to father a bastard, but the time line of the whole thing was too small and too coincidental. Loki would guess the truth. He would guess that he was the lost crown prince of Jötunheimr.

“As long as Fárbauti doesn't know..,” Odin tried to be reassuring. As long as the queen of the Giants didn't know there would be only three people in all the realms that would know of Loki's true parentage. As long as Fárbauti didn't know she couldn't try to claim him as hers – and as long as that held true, Odin and Frigga had their chance to get their son back. In truth, the outcome rested on Loki's decision – would he return to his native people?

Odin wasn't prone to regretting his decisions, but he bitterly regretted parting with that truth. All would be so much simpler if they didn't have to try and guess what Loki would do with the knowledge he now had. Odin grit his teeth, furious with himself – he should have stuck with the truth that was as natural to him as the air he breathed – Loki was his. His and Frigga's. The boy had no other parents.

It had been the pain in his child's expression that had struck him so then. Odin still remembered that expression. He could hardly understand then how one could feel such pain with no open wound. As it was – he was learning. He had been learning ever since Loki fell to the void.

“What makes you think he won't turn to her?” Frigga demanded even though she knew that he would have no answer better than what she could already guess. “He feels betrayed by us. Whether he would turn to her out of spite or despair – as soon as she gets her claws into him, he will be lost to us. She will twist him and mold him, and he will never come home to Asgard again. She will put him on the throne of Jötunheimr and _she won't ever let him leave._ ”

“She won't crown him,” Odin answered shortly and sharply. “That would mean civil war in Jötunheimr.”

For all that Loki was the eldest child of the royal couple of Jötunheimr – he was of Asgard. And he had killed his sire. Loki might have Jötunn blood, but he was a stranger to his native people, and as a son of Odin he could even be counted as an enemy, for all their long years of peace. Odin didn't doubt that Helblindi would not be eager to pass his throne to his long-lost sibling either.

“And here,” Frigga added. There were already those that thought there was a conspiracy against the prince in the castle and that looked unfavorably to Odin. There were those that had supported Loki's politics in his short tenure as a king and there were those that for all the fact that Loki was not of Aesir blood would think it treason to lose the prince to Jötunheimr. And there were also those that would equally turn on the prince for his origins. One noble house would turn on another and Asgard would war with itself.

“Don't think that Fárbauti will hesitate even for a moment should she ever get the chance,” Frigga said growing more agitated by the second. “Helblindi may be the king in name, but he's a child, Fárbauti rules. Should he even want to protest, the forces he could gather she would smash in one attack. And then she would unite all the Giants in hatred of us. She will tell our son lies – she will call us thieves and oath-breakers, she will rally her people behind our son's banner calling us the villains and she will march war upon Asgard striking us with the one weapon that aims at our very hearts. She will aim to defeat us with our own prince.”

“Give him credit,” Odin snapped, unwilling to be drawn into Frigga's somber vision. “He is a man grown not a puppet with strings.”

“He _hates_ us,” Frigga snarled back. “And not without reason, may I say so. Fárbauti won't let that hate turn to understanding. She will fester it and pan the flames. There will be no more explanations or forgiveness. If she gets her claws into him, we will not see our son again until he comes to kill us.”

“You forget that he killed Laufey. Her husband,” Odin argued.

Frigga just sighed in defeat. “You know as well as I do that she will only thank him for that.”

“Then we must trust in Thor,” Odin replied.

“But we didn't tell him about Loki's parentage did we?” Frigga sat down on the edge of their bed – her tone as tired as her looks. She felt too worn out for a goddess.

“Thor has to bring his brother home. That matter need not come up in their conversation,” Odin's answer was simple.

Frigga nearly laughed. “Sometimes I wonder, Allfather,” she said and her gaze turned dark and angry. “If you're blind in both eyes,” her tone was unkind and biting – she meant to hurt with her words.

“It was you who lied,” Odin remarked, stoic in the face of his wife's insult.

“I did not know that Loki was told the truth,” she hissed, gripping hard the post at the corner of the bed and grinding the elaborate carving into sawdust. She rose just as the top part of the post tumbled down on the bed with the heavy canopy it had supported.

“He surprised me,” Odin admitted. His expression betrayed none of his thoughts as he watched his wife destroy his bed. They had always had separate rooms as was appropriate, but it was only recently that they had stopped sharing a bed at night. Frigga had asked him to sleep in his own room months ago, and had never invited him back. And that had been even before Loki fell.

“Let us hope it goes no further,” Frigga said before leaving. “I want my son back.”

“As do I,” Odin said in the emptiness of his room.

 


	5. Beginnings Of Friendship

“I sincerely hope we are not staying here for the night,” Loki said as he followed Fury out of the room he had spent the last few hours in – first waiting on them, and then in a luscious feast. The god eyed the unimpressive concrete walls and distaste was visible in his expression.

“Accommodations not to your liking?” Hawkeye was a step behind Selvig, bringing up the rear of their small procession.

“If this is the best this land has to offer then I'm sorely disappointed, yes,” Loki agreed glancing back for a moment. His staff was hidden in a pocket dimension for the moment. He had waved it across Fury's nose during the feast, but now as they were on the move he had concealed it – he did not need a weapon to appear threatening should he wish to. Plus he did want to appear a good guest. For the time being.

“No, we are not staying here,” Fury replied leading them through all the levels to the surface where a helicopter awaited to take them to the Helicarrier. “If what you are saying is true and there is an intergalactic army coming for us, then starting from this moment we are at war. We will move to our mobile headquarters tonight.”

“You mean to outrun the Chitauri?” Loki almost stumbled, as if in surprise. He righted his gait almost immediately.

“We mean to fight them,” Fury replied watching the Norse god with narrowed eyes.

And to fight, they would need soldiers. Avengers Initiative may have been scrapped, but it was a political battle Fury had intended to lose. It mattered not that a stamp on paper said it was finished – Fury had managed to complete his initial objectives. They had singled out their candidates, and they knew where to find them. As for the rest? Fury was never above giving a little nudge in the right direction. And no team was a team until they had been tested in battle. And up until now there hadn't been battles that couldn't be fought by conventional means.

“Oh, good,” Loki said. “For a moment there I thought I had made a monumental mistake. That doesn't happen to me often. I was almost surprised.”

“Are you alright?” Fury asked suddenly, surprising both Erik Selvig and Hawkeye.

Erik for his part hadn't noticed that anything was wrong, and while Hawkeye had seen the short slip in the facade that Loki put forth with every movement, he did not have the right context to put it into. A god who stumbles. It's not like Clint had a lot of experience with gods and Loki had righted himself nearly instantly. Fury however could read between the lines – Loki was clearly not fond of Chitauri, so that begged the question how he had come to ally with them. There was the version Loki would have them believe, and there was the truth.

Fury had spent too much time with soldiers and spies – men and women on front lines, not to know the traces that being tortured left on a person. Even when the victims wouldn't admit to it. He knew how to read mission gone wrong on Natasha's expressionless face, and in that small moment he could even read that from a god. He found it pragmatic and grim, but not strange when that made him feel better about extending welcome and tentative trust to Loki.

Loki was quiet for a moment too long – genuinely surprised. “Your endless questions are wearing me down,” he snapped. “If I wanted to be bored, I would listen to Thor butcher poetry with his recitals.”

“Good to know,” Hawkeye remarked with a grin. When Loki shot him a heavy glare, the archer just shrugged, explaining, “That you can be worn down. I'll be sure to refresh my memory of _'The Tay Bridge Disaster',_ just in case.”

Neither Erik nor Loki understood the reference, and no one saw Fury rolling his one eye.

“I didn't know you were a fan of poetry, Agent Barton,” Erik said trying to diffuse the situation.

“I shoot with the arrow that fits,” Hawkeye replied as they exited to the surface.

Wind slapped them in their faces. Rotors were turning, the helicopter was ready for liftoff. Fury stopped for a moment and pinned Loki with his gaze. “If we are to defend Earth, and you.. We _will_ need your help.”

Loki was solemn for a moment as he replied, “And as my hosts, you have my assistance.”

“And for how long?” Fury demanded. Like a bloodhound that had smelled blood - he felt something give in Loki, and used the advantage to press the issue. “Will you turn on us three days into battle?”

“Why would I do that?” Loki asked bewildered and genuinely curious.

He supposed that with his reputation as a God of Lies, even on Midgard, it was conceivable to imagine that he had a larger scheme in mind which may or may not be true. However he found it hard to imagine how it would serve him to change sides again. Then again, humans were regrettably dull and so far the only perks of their company over that of Chitauri was better food. Well, that _and_ humans had managed to incite his curiosity. A little.

“The rules of hospitality extend for three days,” Erik Selvig supplied.

Loki stared in wonder. And then he shook his head in apparent disbelief. Humans as beings capable of speech abused that privilege by speaking far too much nonsense. “Who is the moron supplying you with your information?”

He didn't wait for the answer. His question was largely rhetorical with the amount of derision he had managed to pour into his tone. Loki moved away and boarded the helicopter not waiting to be led there. A few moments later others joined him. There was place for over thirty men, Loki guessed, but it didn't look like any more would come.

“What do you mean?” Fury asked, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the rotors.

“Allowing that there was such a three day rule,” Loki spoke as one would to an especially annoying child. He did not raise his tone, not even a little, but his voice had such a quality that they all could hear him clearly. “Doctor Selvig invited me to the whole of Midgard. That would be three days in every home. How many homes do you have on Midgard? A billion? Two billion? How many vacation homes and houses for travelers? Is every room a home? _How many then?_ It's already millions of years. That is even before we start to discuss whether we add the past and the future to the present.”

Hawkeye grinned listening to Loki's exasperated monologue. “Is that your way of saying that we can trust you?”

“You'd be fools to trust me,” Loki replied, irked.

“And only a trustworthy man would admit to that,” Erik shouted, satisfied that the discussion was at an end. His ears were ringing with Loki's voice. It was like the mischievous god had spoken right in his head. The angry swishing that was the sound of the rotors turning was almost a welcome and comforting change.

Loki laughed low in his throat, but said nothing more until the helicopter landed.

It was dark. Loki hadn't know the local time when he had arrived, and it had been meaningless as he had waited in the facility. However many hours had passed since his arrival – it was night now. They were at sea, or an ocean, Loki would guess that an ocean – he could hear the water sloshing against the ship he was on and the water echoed far. It was too vast for a sea. The ship was a strange one too. But the stars.. The stars were familiar for all that he had never seen them before from this side. He breathed deep.

Hawkeye led doctor Selvig away – inside the Helicarrier. Fury, however, joined Loki at the edge of the runway, overlooking the first runway one level lower. “You've said that they're coming. And that they mean to kill us all. Why?” Fury asked. “Did you choose us as your target or did they? And for what reason?”

Loki stared in the distance, but Fury stared at Loki. He hadn't yet decided if he trusted this being. Fury saw clearly that first Selvig had been terrified and now the good doctor was awed. He even saw that Hawkeye had found a rapport of sorts with the self-proclaimed god. But for himself, Fury was only making his mind up. Loki brought trouble with him, though Fury wasn't so sure that trouble wouldn't have found them anyway.

That was what they had been preparing for, wasn't it? With Phase II? But Phase II was not finished and doctor Selvig had showed them that at least for the moment, it wasn't the bigger guns that won them a reprieve. Fury wondered what would have happened if Selvig hadn't spoken up. _He would have attacked,_ Fury thought watching Loki. _And he would have led that army. Perhaps to victory._

Loki laughed out loud. “You flatter yourselves. Chitauri are an army meant to conquer the universe – you and your planet are insignificant to them.”

“But why start with Earth?”

“Have you really not grasped it yet?” Loki asked and glanced at Fury. Seeing a blank look he rolled his eyes heavenwards. “It's the blue jewel. Tesseract,” he explained. “They mean to conquer the known universe through it and it has never been as unprotected and ripe for picking as it is now on Earth.”

“It's been on Earth for a long time,” Fury argued. “Why didn't they try to take it before?”

“They knew not where to look,” Loki replied truthfully. No one had known. They had forgotten and misplaced Tesseract and not even in Asgard had they remembered where it was hidden. “But you've been toying around with it recently and it shone ever so brightly even into the darkest corners of the void between realms.”

“So it's our fault,” Fury surmised quietly. A helicopter rose to air in the background.

“Well, it certainly isn't mine,” Loki quipped though he was surprised at the admission of guilt.

“If the Chitauri want the universe and you were to have Earth as payment for your services – they don't strike me as the type to let you keep it when they'd be finished,” Fury paused. “Nor you as the type to believe them.”

“Very astute,” Loki remarked his gaze turned back to the darkness stretching in front of them. A small smile quirked his lips. “Why can't you maintain such a performance level at all times?”

Fury smiled. He hadn't expected an honest, straightforward answer, but still what Loki hadn't said told the director volumes. Loki hadn't said that he was wrong. And Fury decided now that he did trust the man. Loki might be a Norse god, but Nick Fury looked at his youthful face and couldn't help but think him a young man. A young, troubled man.

He didn't ask anymore about Loki's motives. He sensed that he would have no more answers, not yet. And for now what he knew was sufficient; he guessed even more and what he wanted to know merely to satisfy his curiosity he could learn later. Instead he turned back to practical matters, “What of Asgard? Selvig says you are Thor's brother. That would make you their prince.”

“What of it?”

“Will they be coming for you?” Fury was relentless.

“I doubt that,” Loki turned sharply, his grin was vicious, without a hint of joy. “They could not even if they cared to. Thor destroyed Bifrost,” his lips twisted into a mockery of smile, “Quite shortsighted, but then that's my brother for you. Always thinking with his hammer first.”

Fury didn't even blink as in less than a second Loki shred apart Fury's illusion of him as a young man by becoming an angry, vengeful god of old. But that couldn't take away from Nick what he had seen before, and in his long years he may not have dealt with anyone as powerful as Loki, but he had dealt with plenty of volatile and potentially dangerous people. The keyword being – _people._

“We have no quarrel with Asgard,” Fury said softly, as if taming a wild animal. “But you are _our_ guest. I meant to ask whether we should turn them away on your behalf or accept them.”

On one hand Fury really, really hoped that Loki was correct about anyone from Asgard not being able to get here – he would hate to start another interplanetary incident when he already had a war brewing. Plus their relationship with Thor had began quite well. But on the other – Fury knew that to foster the tentative trust he had built with Loki, he would have to set a precedent, and he would have to act under all those oaths he had recited when he welcomed Loki on Earth.

It was a tough tactical situation, but Fury preferred working with what he had rather than with what he might get. And he had Loki. He _might_ get Thor. He didn't even try to delude himself about any regular support from the rest of Asgard. They were on their own. And he had already decided to trust Loki. He might as well work to make this arrangement more solid. It seemed to Fury that Selvig had been right – perhaps they could turn Loki into a friend. And as a friend, he would be most useful.

Loki was stunned into silence. When he recovered, he answered shortly, “Turn them away.”

**LOH**

It was an early morning when a knock to the door awoke him. He rose slowly, grudgingly. The few moments between sleep and awareness were the only ones where he allowed himself to feel unreserved pity for his situation. He felt no anger or hate, he just felt broken. And then he pushed and kicked his blankets away and rose like the soldier that he was to brave another day.

He took one look in the peephole and opened the door with a slight frown, “Director.”

“Good to see that you're awake, Captain,” Fury's smile was utterly professional as he stepped in the small apartment.

“How can I help you, sir?” he knew that Fury would not be here without a reason. He both dreaded and yearned for a mission that would take his mind off of the fact that he had lost seventy years and all of his friends in one swoop. It was a consolation in a sense that as a soldier he would be required to function, not to feel.

He pounded punchbags into dust nearly every night, but it neither helped him feel nor sleep better. The few hours that he managed to keep his eyes shut were plagued by nightmares and he was no less rested when he woke than when he went to sleep. If he was an ordinary man he would have collapsed of sheer exhaustion long ago, but he was a super soldier and he did what he had been genetically engineered to do – he soldiered on.

Fury looked at the man and decided to forgo small talk. He did not want tea or coffee and Rodgers would not have the time to drink it himself should he accept the mission. And Fury knew that he would. He knew all his lost souls well. “I have a mission for you.”

Steve nodded and stood up straighter, steeling himself for it. “What do you need me to do?”

“Pack,” Fury replied succinctly. “You are coming with me now. I'll brief you on the way and you can read the mission details later.”

Steve finally moved from his spot by the door to his bedroom, to start hastily packing and dressing. Fury thought to give the Captain some privacy and wait for him downstairs, but Rogers moved with superhuman speed as he quickly gathered in an old duffel bag the things he deemed essential, so Fury just moved into the open kitchen area to avoid being in the way. Fury had just barely concluded a cursory check of the shelves and cupboards (all empty) when Steve Rogers stood before him all dressed and ready to go. Barely five minutes had passed.

“Are you sure you have everything?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve answered without even glancing around to make sure.

Fury raised his eyebrows, but nodded eventually. He went first and Steve followed, without pausing. So instead Fury paused in the middle of the hallway when the Captain didn't appear to remember what he had forgotten. When the moment of silence stretched, Fury sighed, and spoke, “Did you not forget to lock the door, Captain?”

“There's nothing in there that can be taken that I would miss,” Rogers answered softly.

Fury stared at Captain America for a little while before deciding not to press the issue. He nodded and went for the staircase. They were on the fifth floor in a rundown building that had no working elevator. The neighborhood where the Captain had chosen to reside in was bad and the conditions he had chosen to live in were appalling. S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried to set the Captain up in better conditions, but Rogers had refused nearly all help that they had offered.

“You might get some unwelcome house guests,” Fury remarked just as they reached the ground floor.

“I welcome all guests,” Steve replied simply. He never locked his doors.

Fury chuckled, clearly amused, as he walked out in the street. “Then you will like this mission.”

“Sir?” Steve asked as he reached forward first to open the jeep's door for Fury.

“Brace yourself,” Fury grinned, pausing by the door. “It's quite a tale,” he said as he got in the car. “You'll be surprised,” he added when Steve had joined him.

“I doubt that, sir,” Steve replied respectfully, but pragmatically.

“Ten bucks says you're wrong,” and Fury handed him a folder marked as _Top Secret._ At the top of the file was a picture of a young man with green eyes and black hair dressed in black, green and gold.

**LOH**

“Mister Stark, please wake up..,” J.A.R.V.I.S. asked in a soft, cultured tone, though the statistical probability based on past occurrences indicated that receipt of acquiesce to his request was close to nil. Nonetheless, he was built to be polite, “Mister Stark, I'm afraid you will be in for a rude awakening if you do not wake up now.”

Tony just turned on his other side and reached for Pepper, only for his hand to fall flat on the bed. He opened his eyes very narrowly and guessed that it must be already morning, she _had_ said something about flying out to Washington sometime .. very early. Come to that he could remember a rather delicious goodbye from her, but up until now he had been mostly certain that that had been a dream.

And what a delicious dream that had been. The whole steady relationship business was pretty awesome when it was with Pepper – she knew him, she knew what to expect of him and she wasn't surprised when he disappointed her. He _did_ try hard not to disappoint her. As it was – she already knew the worst of him when she got into this, and Tony found he liked the whole honesty thing too. With her.

“Mister Stark, my door protocols are being overwritten. S.H.I.E.L.D. is here for you.”

“What?” Tony groaned and flopped on his back, still very much asleep as far as the rest of the world and especially S.H.I.E.L.D. was concerned.

“Agent Coulson will exit your private elevator in about five seconds. Four. Three..”

Tony pulled a pillow over his face.

“He's here,” J.A.R.V.I.S. announced just as Tony heard the distinct ding of the elevator door opening.

“The acoustics are too good,” Tony mumbled under the pillow. The master bedroom was quite a way from the elevators and main entrance. “Jarvis, remind Pepper to throw around some furniture to absorb the sound.”

“Very well, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.

“And remind me to tell her that the thing with the elevator and personae non gratae has to end. _This is the second time!_ ”

“Sorry to wake you, Stark,” Coulson said as he appeared in the open doorway. Stark tower was still being renovated and not all the doors and furniture had been put in yet.

“Noted, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. updated his files.

“No, you're not _sorry,_ ” Tony grumbled as he pushed away the pillow and rose just a bit, pushing his elbows beneath him. “Or you wouldn't wake me. Did S.H.I.E.L.D. run out of teen blogs to monitor? I certainly didn't order personal wake up call at the godforsaken hour of..” Tony glanced at the floor-to-ceiling window that was tinted and now shifted, and displayed a huge digital clock. “.. of eleven thirty in the morning.”

“We really need you to look at this,” Coulson showed him a digital info packet similar in appearance to a regular laptop.

Tony just shook his head, dropping flat back on the bed. “No,” he said. “No, no, no, no. Not my consulting hours. Besides I'm still sleeping,” to demonstrate the truth of his words, he burrowed deeper into his blankets. He was a bit annoyed with S.H.I.E.L.D. since the Avengers Initiative had been scrapped (he had followed all the secret briefings and conferences on the subject, recording them for his viewing pleasure as one might do with a favorite show on TV). As it was Tony had quite looked forward to the whole superhero business thing – seemed like a fine party. Saving people and all that.

But since it was scrapped, S.H.I.E.L.D. hardly had anything that held his curiosity. He pretended to snore, and S.H.I.E.L.D. with Fury at the helm and Coulson as his boatswain could go find someone else to fix their Windows OS problems for all he cared.

“It's important,” Phil stressed and walked over to hold the digital file over Stark.

Tony opened his eyes. Frowned at the file suspended in the air by Coulson's hand above him. And then he looked at Coulson. “If your next step is to join me in bed, I insist that you take off your clothes,” Tony said and pointed at the sheets, “Egyptian cotton. Ten thousand thread count. I won't have it ruined.”

Coulson dropped the digital file on the bed, near Stark. Nearly hitting his hand. “Just take a look at it,” he said.

Tony yelped, rolling away. “Violated in my own bed!” He finally deigned to sit up, his covers dropping down to his middle. “Statistics do say that you're more likely to be attacked at your own place by someone you know,” he looked pointedly at Coulson.

“Get back to us when you're done,” Phil said in the same calm, no-nonsense tone. He turned and left when Tony finally, grudgingly picked up and opened the digital file holder.

 


	6. A Storm Gathers

“Sir!” Maria stood up straighter so fast Fury could swear he hear her spine crack. She immediately walked over to him, ready to report all that had transpired in his absence – which in truth wasn't much.

“Captain Rogers is getting settled in his room as we speak,” Fury began. He was Maria's superior, but he treated her as more of an equal; his command style more relaxed than she sometimes felt comfortable with, because she didn't always feel worthy of the trust he placed in her. “Was there any trouble with our special guest while I was away?”

“No,” Maria answered immediately, surprised at her own answer. Fury had given orders that the alien was to be treated as a guest, but after all the commotion in the previous night, she had expected at least some problems this morning.

“If you will follow me, sir,” she led Fury to the glass deck where there was almost unobstructed view of the better part of both first and second runways. “Hawkeye's been keeping an eye on him,” she said and indicated towards the first runway that more often served as a landing deck.

Fury frowned as he stared in the distance. Sure enough. At the edge there stood a figure with a billowing green cloak. “The air must be pretty thin out there.”

“It is,” Maria replied. “Doesn't seem to be bothering him, though. He's been out there for quite a while.”

“And Agent Barton?” Fury looked at her.

“He sits in a plane,” she replied and pointed out the plane in question. “The thing is,” she paused, unsure how to admit the next part, “nobody saw Loki leave his room and go there. We didn't even notice him there until Selvig came to tell us that he went to invite the guy for breakfast, but found no one in his room.”

“Interesting,” Fury hummed low in his throat.

“Sir?” Maria did not understand.

“He is our guest, he is free to go as he pleases,” Fury explained, and said nothing further of what he thought. “Now. Is Coulson back? How did it go for him?”

“He is back,” Maria said. “He reports that he gave Stark the info packet.”

“Good,” Fury asserted, satisfied. “That means Stark will be here as soon as he's done with it. What about Natasha and doctor Banner?”

Maria frowned, but guessed that the director probably was familiar enough with Stark to know if this fishing method would work. She personally wasn't fond of the altergo of Iron Man, but it wasn't her job to like him, and all the better for it – Maria prided herself on being good at her job. “She will finish up her current assignment and then go straight for doctor Banner.”

“How long will that take?”

“Not long, she assured us,” Maria replied confidently. “And it is vital to take down Luchkov.” The corrupt general was selling Russian military weapons to highest bidder.

“Among other things..,” Fury muttered.

“Sir?”

“Make sure Natasha knows that time is of the essence,” he said before turning on his heel to leave the command center. “And bring us lower to a more breathable atmosphere.”

“Yes, sir,” Maria moved to follow the orders immediately.

Fury was restless. He knew that there was an alien army coming to eliminate Earth. He did not know where precisely and he did not know when exactly – two things that were extremely important. Then there was Loki. He had decided to trust him, but could he really? Was it even remotely wise to trust the God of Lies? _Of course not._ Then again – it also wasn't wise to mix together a grieving soldier, a billionaire with alphabets list of problems and a Hulk, and expect them to save the planet.

Fury counted his soldiers. Captain America was on board. Stark would come. He suspected that Barton would join them and if he did then Natasha would follow. Doctor Banner – _he hoped._ Hulk had a great potential for both – good and evil. And then Fury's gaze went to the solitary figure at the far end of the runway. And wasn't the same true of Loki? He breathed deep and judged that Maria had brought the Helicarrier lower in the skies; the air was rare, like in the mountains, but not uncomfortably so.

He supposed it would all depend on how he presented the whole thing. Sometimes he felt like a used car salesman instead of a master spy.

Loki hadn't slept at all. He'd spent a few hours in the bedroom provided for him, but that had been more to keep up appearances for his shadow – he had, of course, noticed Agent Barton watching him. In those hours he had also finally managed to gather enough concentration to cast a veil over himself. He had no desire to be Heimdall's entertainment for very long.

The magic had taxed him, but the magic had never been the problem. While he had felt somewhat _limited_ in the void; with his first steps in Midgard he felt it under his skin as a thing nearly alive; he was almost bursting with it. He just had not the strength to control it. He had been cut off for months – the emptiness of space between realms had sapped at his abilities by keeping him alive, and he'd adjusted to that, and now it was like a taught bowstring snapping back into place.

Midgard was rich – in oxygen and in faith. He felt as powerful here as on any of the other eight realms. He however was fascinated to watch his hand tremble when he extended it in front of himself. He knew he was exhausted, and it was not the first time in his life, but it was rare enough to still hold an equal sense of dread and wonder to him. He had not slept in months, and that was a lot even for a god. He _did_ need to sleep, little and rarely compared to humans – a day on Asgard was a month on Earth, but he did need to rest.

He had teleported outside shortly before sunrise; he had missed the warm light of a rising sun while in the void. Time passed quickly; days were very much shorter on Midgard than on Asgard. He kept himself concealed, unwilling to be disturbed, until he learned that he was missed - when the perfunctory illusion he had left in his place winked out of reality once disturbed. It took humans less than five minutes to locate him after he lifted the charm. And less than ten to have his shadow (Agent Barton) settle nearby. At least nobody seemed to want to strike up a conversation. That is – until director Fury returned right after dawn.

“Team's nearly assembled,” Fury said as he came to stop beside the god. His hands were clasped behind his back and for a man that didn't show many emotions; he seemed nearly giddy with excitement.

“Team?” Loki questioned favoring the director with a look.

“Yes,” Fury replied, smiling, but not turning to meet the god's questioning gaze.

“You assembled _a team_ to fight the Chitauri invasion?” Loki was incredulous, and he didn't mind letting it show.

The human was mad! Positively insane. Thor might be dumb enough to think to invade Jötunheimr with a handful of friends, _and_ Loki, but humans were no match for gods on any scale of comparison. A team of mortals stood just about as much chance against the Chitauri as Thor and his merry band of idiots (Loki was sad to admit, he had been part of that escapade) had had against Jötunheimr. None whatsoever.

“Yes,” Fury replied, seemingly unconcerned. “And I would like you to join it.”

Aside from the fact that it had been his suicidal impulse that had gotten him into this predicament in the first place – Loki wasn't very keen on dying _now_ ; there was also the fact that he was _not_ the hero type. Just about everyone else in Asgard seemed to fervor for glory and honorable death, but not Loki. “Open battle. No chance of success,” he remarked. “That really is more my brother's style.”

He couldn't help but think that for all the welcome and fanfare he had received; he still didn't feel, well, welcome in any way. And the accompanying thought was that Thor had found friends within seconds. Midgard probably had lost a cosmic bet getting him instead of his brother. _After all, Thor would agree to join that band of mortals immediately and he would most likely lead in that hopeless attack._ Loki didn't dwell on those thoughts long; he was bitter, lonely and dead tired, but he also knew that he was strong and he needn’t admit any of the other things.

“And you would be more suited for the role of the chess-master?” Fury asked, without judgment, almost curiously. “Setting the board, pushing the pieces – all behind the scenes.”

Loki frowned. He sensed that the human was taking the long route to make some sort of point to him.

“But you had your army to command,” Fury stated. “And you left it.”

Loki grinned, unexpectedly. For one – it certainly seemed to confuse his companion; for second – he hadn't spoken with a conversationalist so talented in quite a while. Every time they spoke Fury seemed to have something new to share, and yet he still managed to poke deeper at something entirely else. Loki, for his part, was enjoying this far too much to be candid right out of hand.

“It seems that nobody's perfect,” he replied. “I'm growing more disappointed with myself by the minute if it's any relief to you.”

Fury did not rise to the bait. “Why did you join the Chitauri?”

Loki inclined his head a little, leaning closer to Fury, and he spoke with perfectly enunciated concern, “I'm aware that humans have short lives. And even shorter memories. But correct me if I'm wrong – did we not have this conversation yesterday?” His expression was a masterpiece Da Vinci would have been proud to paint.

Fury did his best to appear unflappable. His poker face was well worn and had years of experience behind it, but nothing and no one had ever made him feel quite like he was traversing a mine field during a conversation like Loki. In a way, he supposed it was fair – he _was_ trying to have one over the God of Lies himself. “You said you came to conquer. Now, I would like to hear the truth.”

Loki sighed quietly, as if saddened that his word was in doubt. “What makes you think it wasn't the truth?”

Fury stared at the Norse god. He found it hard to judge whether Loki was naturally as changeable in his moods or if he was just that good a liar. Fury found he honestly couldn't tell where what was natural ended and where what was intended began. He counted it as a victory that in few glimpses in all their conversations he had managed to read _something_ from the Asgardian, but as he stared at him now – Fury just had no idea what Loki was thinking or whether he was acting or being genuine.

Fury concluded that he might as well be staring at a brick wall. A wall would show less emotions, but he could read just about as much from wall as he could from Loki for all his vivid expressions. There were moments like this with Natasha, when Fury wasn't sure he read her correctly, but with Loki it was every single moment.

“Because like I told you yesterday – I don't believe you trusted your pals to keep their bargain in the end. Even if they trusted you to keep yours.”

Loki drew back, straightening. “That sounds entirely like a problem for another day.”

He wondered why Fury was so determined to pick at the root of his motives. The man couldn't possibly be as sentimental as he appeared at certain times – a leader could not afford a heart that weak. Loki almost laughed – was Fury trying to find some noble reason for Loki's initial desire for conquest? Did the man hope to find some underlying cause that would elevate Loki to the status of a _benevolent_ deity? Someone more deserving of trust than he was now?

Loki was almost tempted to shatter all delusions here and now. There had been nothing kind and good in his plans. He had intended to conquer Midgard and he had intended to use it's people as cannon fodder to strike from within when the time came for the final battle for the known universe. And it would come. The Titan would not rest until all the worlds of Yggdrasil bowed before him.

Now the warriors of Earth had offered their lives up faster without him even having to order it. _They would have been better off with Thor,_ Loki thought and unexpectedly found himself a little sad at the thought. _But I need them. And I have them now._

“Perhaps for someone who lives for the battle of the day,” Fury nodded after a moment of thought, conceding the point – in part, at least. “I don't think it would hold true for you.”

Loki laughed and his mirth was joyful for all that he felt no joy in his heart. “According to your ideas of hospitality, I thought that entertainment was my end of the bargain?”

“You're most definitely a riddle we keep on guessing,” Fury replied, not unkindly. Then Maria's voice in his earpiece notified him that _Avengers_ had assembled in the command center. The team wasn't complete, but he appreciated Maria's gesture, because he heard in her tone the same excitement that he felt. “Come,” he said, “I want you to meet the team.”

“You will need an army not a team,” Loki said as they turned and left to head back inside.

He hadn't had breakfast. It was close to lunchtime. He should be famished and cross for it, but Loki was used to hunger – his body completely off any regular internal clocks demanding food or rest. He was awake and alert, and his magic kept him going further still. He couldn't afford a moment's lapse. He didn't trust his surroundings nor his hosts enough to be able to rest easy and, aside from the feast the previous night, he hadn't had any food that deserved to be called _edible_ since before he fell.

“There is no such army,” Fury answered simply as they stepped inside.

Loki stopped suddenly. His expression betrayed nothing. He had never expected Midgard to be able to stop the Chitauri. He had _hoped_ they had a formidable force to at least put up a fight. They had to have some kind of military. Fury had passed Loki by a few steps before he noticed that he was alone. He stopped and turned. Sighed, and admitted. “Earth could never hope to fight an alien force with conventional means,” tanks and pistols against spaceships and magic?

 _Phase II_ wasn't finished. And while they could always drop a thermonuclear bomb – it would destroy their invaders as much as humans themselves, and that way it would still be a victory for the other side. “With what we have now? It's not a fight we can expect to win.”

“Then your planet is doomed.”

“No,” Fury disagreed. “There's hope if we work together.”

“Hope?” Loki sneered, after all, hope was consolation for fools. But Loki was no fool and Fury had just admitted that Midgard could pull together for a fight, at least. Victory on this battleground had never been in Loki's plans. Fury's grim assessment of the situation was what Loki had known all along – he just didn't let that show on his face. He railed against the prospect of a defeat as if it hadn't been something he had expected from the very start.

“Next thing he'll tell you that all we need to win is true love's kiss,” Stark interjected. “We should call him Nick Disney not Nick Fury.”

Loki stared, somewhat bewildered, at the man who had suddenly joined their conversation.

Tony had done his lap of honor around the command room. He'd even sat there a little bit by the round table, cracking jokes about King Arthur and Camelot, but the Captain hadn't risen to his baiting, and Agent Hill had been even less fun. So Tony had made some fast excuse about finding where Fury was stuck, and he'd ducked out of there before anyone could stop him. J.A.R.V.I.S. had scoured the internal security system and told him where to find Fury and the mystery man – on whom there hadn't been whole lot of data in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s info packet or anywhere on S.H.I.E.L.D. servers.

So Tony, naturally, had decided to make his own introductions.

“Tony Stark. Iron Man? Nada?” Tony prompted, spreading his hands and displaying himself. When he saw no spark of recognition, he sighed, and lowered his arms. “Well, you _are_ definitely the Tarzan of the company. Wait. Does that make Fury here – Jane or an orangutan?”

Loki stared, still. Fury felt that for a moment there he understood how kindergarten teachers felt on a daily basis. “Follow me,” he barked and went forward, not waiting for either Tony or Loki to catch up.

Tony smirked at the supposed god and waggled his eyebrows. Fury was already around the corner. “What's with the cloak? Last thing left in your closet on a washing day?”

Loki finally acquired an expression. His lips stretched into a terrifying grin. “I suggest you hurry,” he said, his tone soft and gentle. And ultimately teasing, because a moment later he vanished in black-green smoke and Tony was left alone in the entrance corridor.

“Well, fuck me,” Tony breathed at the display of advanced technology that lesser minds would call _magic_ , and turned down the wrong way – if he had to go back alone, he could make a coffee stop on his way. His brain was already working out the theoretical computations that would be the basis of displacing things in space. The smoke, obviously, was light bending and reflecting – forming different colored fractals as there was a hole torn in space.

If Fury was surprised to see Loki, already lounging in the command center with his legs raised to the table, when he arrived – he didn't show it. Instead he noted that while Stark wasn't here, and obviously wasn't in a hurry to show up again – Steve Rogers, Erik Selvig and Agent Barton were already seated. Maria stood to a side. One floor below them the command center was a buzz of activity.

“If you're wondering where to start,” Loki spoke up just as Fury opened his mouth. “Introductions are always a good place.”

Fury stared hard at the mischievous god, before turning to Steve, deciding to start with the man closest to Loki, and the one who also knew least about the Asgardian. “Captain America – Loki of Asgard. Loki – Captain America,” Fury's introduction was dry.

Steve for his part got up and walked closer, extending his hand for a handshake. “Steve Rogers, you can call me just Steve.”

Loki had to look slightly over his shoulder at the extended palm; he was familiar with Midgardian handshakes in theory, but it was not a custom that he had tried yet. Ever. None of the other realms practiced it. He also guessed that it was rude to deny. He lifted his legs off the table and rose in one smooth motion to face this Captain America. He stared at the extended hand a moment longer before tentatively returning the handshake.

Steve for his part was surprised at the strength he felt when Loki grasped his hand; Loki's fingers looked deceptively delicate. “Very well, Just Steve,” Loki said, not trying to be particularly funny. Which was probably why Hawkeye snorted rather loudly.

“Agent Barton – you've already met,” Fury drew on his nearly unlimited supply of patience.

“Hawkeye,” Clint added and grinned, flashing a haphazard salute in greeting.

“And doctor Selvig as well,” Fury nodded to the physicist. Erik Selvig was not intended for the Avengers Initiative, but he was the Tesseract specialist and Fury hadn't had them all assembled only so they could meet and greet; they had war coming, after all.

“I hope you're well rested,” Erik said.

Loki smiled politely at that, but in truth he was a bit perplexed at Selvig's genuine tone. He mistrusted kindness.

“I think I figured out how you do it,” Tony said drawing attention to himself, and addressing Loki as he came in. He popped a few skittles in his mouth. “What I don't understand is how you're still alive after.”

Loki regally dropped back into his chair. A small smile teased at the corners of his lips, “I'm a god. The understanding is beyond you.”

“Disagree, Voldemort,” Tony shot back immediately.

Loki raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Okay, I'll try to be fair. You defected from the Dark Side and you still have a nose. So? Snape, maybe?” he glanced around for reactions, but aside from Hawkeye shuddering in suppressed laughter, the rest of his audience was unappreciative, so Tony had no mercy for them. “We have code names here, wizard. So I'm thinking...”

“Stark!” Steve barked, but before he could get further it was Loki who spoke over the rest of them.

“This is who you've assembled to save your planet?” disdain in Loki's tone was almost palpable as he turned to Fury with his question.

Tony took offense to that and spoke before Fury could, “Hey, we're the guys working on the problem. Either join in and be a team player or be the water boy.”

“Like you're a team player, Stark?” Steve rose to his feet.

“You say working, but the only thing I see moving is your mouth,” Loki hissed leaning forward, but not getting up.

“Oh, I'm a player, Cap,” Tony smirked and licked his lips, “And I can do a lot of things orally.”

Now Loki did get up and all the breadth of the table between them didn't seem like much at all when he hissed in a low, daring tone, “Enlighten me.”

“Gentlemen!” Fury snapped before Stark could introduce a Norse god to porn. Hawkeye roared with laughter. Steve just looked uncomfortable and sat back down, while Erik was mildly confused at how quickly things had turned around. Agent Hill practiced her poker face.

**LOH**

They may have gotten off to a rocky start, but eventually all settled at the table and got down to business. There was an alien army coming to destroy Earth, and they all were interested in preventing that – some more than others. Loki earned a glare from Captain America when he mentioned once again that _his_ preferences had been conquest opposite to outright destruction.

“Is there any real way to tell when they're coming?” Hawkeye asked finally when discussion between Selvig and Stark on thermonuclear physics was winding down.

“No,” Erik said. “I think it's rather safe to assume that we will observe the same kind of acting out from Tesseract as before Loki arrived, but that's a day's warning. Two days – at best.”

“Is there any way to shut down the Tesseract? Stop them from coming at all?” Steve asked.

Loki rolled his eyes and Tony banged on the desk in frustration, “It's an energy source!”

“No,” Erik replied much more politely. “We tried that back before Loki arrived. It didn't work.”

“So we don't know when and we can't stop them before they come,” Steve sighed. “Can we at least control _where_ it happens?”

All eyes turned to Loki who for his part blinked innocently. He let the moment of silence stretch; he had been rather quiet when talk of the Tesseract started. He knew quite a few of the secrets of the jewel, but he did not feel like sharing that knowledge. What they asked now, however, was not much of a secret and nothing that he cared to hide. “The doorway must open in close proximity to the Tesseract.”

“So we can at least choose a safe battle ground,” Steve concluded, relieved. It would be a nightmare he didn't want to imagine if a portal where to open above a city.

“Yeah, but where?” Tony demanded. “The ocean. Some desert? Maybe the North Pole? Perhaps Santa could give us a hand if we've been good this year. I hear Rudolph has a killer kick,” his voice went deeper and more laced with sarcasm towards the end of this speech.

“This is serious, Stark!” Steve snapped, and he wasn't prone to snapping. He didn't particularly like how he behaved in Stark's company, but the playboy just grated on his every nerve. And they all were stressed. It was not every day you learned that there was an invasion force coming and you were it – there was no other line of defense.

“I _am_ serious, Capsicle,” Tony retorted. “We'll need to transport some fucking heavy machinery there – where ever that will be. It's not like we can put you there as a customs officer and tell them that their visas have expired and expect them to fly back home on the next flight!”

“South pole might actually be the best,” Hawkeye spoke up, but he wasn't heard.

Battle in ocean was definitely out considering that they would be attacked from air. They needed solid ground beneath their feet. While an argument could be made for desert – it was a shifting environment that could turn on them as easily as aid them. And Sahara, which was the largest desert, was divided in many countries, with many inhabitants and for all the vast distances, it was not a place to bring down war upon.

South pole was an arctic desert. It was uninhabited and far from inhabited places – the one scientific station that was established there could easily be evacuated. Unlike North pole the Antarctica was a continental land mass – meaning deep down there was ground not moving water and considering that he had no idea what kind of powers or weapons the invaders might have – solid ground seemed the best option. The conditions might be extremely harsh, but Clint figured he could bear it if it meant their unwelcome guests were all the more uncomfortable for it.

Flash and rumble, and at first only Loki noticed. Then there was a thunderclap loud enough to capture everyone's attention. As they looked out the windows they saw that the horizon was black with storm clouds. Bright lightning flashed in the distance.

“Should we land?” Steve asked. “For the storm?”

“That came on quickly..” Tony frowned. J.A.R.V.I.S. had checked the weather forecasts in the morning and hadn't reported anything unusual or stormy.

Fury went over to his command console and asked for reports. His people said that the storm was huge. It might be better to try and brave it down in the sea rather than risk unpredictable high speed winds in the sky. The Helicarrier might be huge, but as everyone who worked on it knew – it was annoyingly fragile, at least in flight. Fury gave his orders for landing.

“It is no ordinary storm,” Loki sighed, rising from his chair.

“The Chitauri?” Steve also stood, concerned. “So soon?” He looked at doctor Selvig, “What about ..”

“Worse,” Loki replied, interrupting. “It's my brother.”

 


	7. Not Quite Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reworking and reposting stuff is a nightmare :D This is the new I'm-back-on-track part. Have fun :D

**Not Quite Meetings**

Silence that fell after Loki’s announcement was deafening. But only for a moment.

“You have a brother?” it was Tony who spoke first, “He has a brother?” he turned to Fury. “Of course he has,” the billionaire sighed when the director gave no reply.

“Shouldn’t have skipped paragraphs when you read the info file,” Hawkeye snickered.

“Thor,” Eric Selvig had risen from his chair without even noticing. He was excited and apprehensive at the same time about the possibility to meet Thor once again. He wanted to be happy, but somehow he knew that it wouldn’t be as simple as greeting an old friend. Not with Loki here.

And he was right. Fury had already issued orders for all weapons to be stand by and ready to fire. Hawkeye in a manner befitting a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had already slipped away from the table with no one noticing; he was about to board the plane meant to intercept whatever.. _whoever_ was coming their way. Nick Fury did not need a reminder – Loki had asked to turn away visitors from Asgard, and the director was duty and honor bound to do exactly so. In truth he did it with the slim hope that this would cement their relationship with Loki, and he hoped to whichever god was listening, that this incident would not escalate. He already had one oncoming intergalactic war, he did not need another.

Loki for his part sat back down. Stiffly, as if he had to think about every move and force it. He looked at the table, at the far wall – anywhere but the huge glass wall and the storm behind it. His lips where pressed thin and white together. He wondered how much dark energy had their father... had _Odin_ summoned to get Thor here. He wondered _why_. Oh, there were reasons, he just couldn’t pick one – was Thor here to collect him and deliver him for punishment? They had to know Loki would fight every step of the way. He had been a king! He had a right to every protection that office could extend. Was Thor here to... take him back into the fold? Among those liars and cheats? They were not his family.

“Loki?” it was the Captain who noticed that Loki had changed in a matter of seconds.

“Just Steve…” Loki narrowed his eyes when he heard Stark snicker and caught on quickly, “I assume there’s a colloquialism there that I misinterpreted, therefore, Steve, correct?”

Captain nodded.

“Do not presume to inquire about my wellbeing, _Steve,_ ” Loki hissed before pushing his chair violently back and rising. “I shall be in my quarters,” he announced to Fury before leaving. This time on foot, rather than teleporting.

“What... I don’t understand,” Steve looked around for answers once Loki had left. It was not the rudeness that bothered him, “If that’s his brother coming, then...”

“They have a bit of a complicated relationship,” Erik said, sighing.

“Whatever their conflict, surely, this is the one time to make peace,” the Captain said, thinking about the forthcoming battle.

“They had Norse mythology back in the forties as well. Don’t you read, Cap?” Tony had hacked the hovercraft’s security system and now on the table in heaps of digital files in front of each of them appeared stories from Norse mythology.

The Captain bit back a retort, it would be of no use to snap at Stark now. “But those are just stories...”

“I know for a fact Loki tried to kill Thor. A couple of months ago,” Selvig said, grimacing as he skimmed the titles of the files in front of him.

Steve just shook his head lightly. He didn’t think that the answer to their immediate problem was in a thousand year old stories retold another thousand times. “What is the plan, director?” he asked as he came to stand next to Fury.

“We politely ask our newest guest to leave,” Fury replied candidly.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we better hope those lightning rods we have work properly,” whatever weapons they had would not be a match for Thor. Fury was more or less sure of that. The only ace up his sleeve that he was counting on was - that as he was bound to Loki so Loki was bound to them – he couldn’t allow their destruction. Even should he wish it.

“But he isn’t the enemy,” Steve argued for Thor. “I read the file.”

“At the moment, he is,” Fury declared blankly, boring into the Captain with his one good eye, before moving his attention back to the operations room below them.

**LOH**

Thor was exuberant. He was jubilant. Once his feet touched the ground, he hardly needed to try to feel his brother’s presence. Loki likely wanted to be found – he had never felt his brother as strongly as he did now. And he always felt him – to a larger or lesser degree if they were in the same realm. To him Loki was sunshine on fresh snow and wide eyed wonder; crisp like a chilly morning and strong. So, so very strong.

Thor grinned and extended his hammer to the skies gathering a storm to him as he flew.

He had so many questions. There was anger and sense of betrayal, but as he once again felt his brother's presence there was also overwhelming joy that drowned out near everything else. Loki was alive. Thor could hardly tell more than that though he wished he had the ability. The bond between him and his brother was one of spirit and kinship. It was not an uncommon thing between brothers-at-arms much less so among siblings in Asgard.

What humans called intuition when they seemed to be able to sense their loved one's distress or death though many miles apart; it was much more tangible and real for Asgardians. And it was a sense that had ever been strong in Thor. It's what would one day make him a greater commander in battle than his father. But there was none that he felt more strongly than Loki, and even with magic his brother was hard pressed to hide from him if they were in the same realm. It had annoyed Loki to no end when they were children.  Whenever they played hide-and-seek Thor was like a compass arrow pointing North to his brother.

However, the bond was not the psychic one that some magic users, elves and others had, where they could not only feel each other’s presence, but converse in their thoughts. Thor had sometimes wondered if they didn't have that because Loki locked him out. After all, Loki was an accomplished magician, surely telepathy was not beyond him if he so would choose. For his part Thor naturally reached out to those closest to him while his brother valued his privacy and often went to great lengths to conceal himself. Though, after the few times Thor had panicked, thinking him kidnapped or dead, Loki had relented as far as lifting his web of concealment to let Thor and only Thor feel the faintest blip of his presence.

The heartache he had suffered when he thought his brother lost – he never wanted to feel that again. Those days were dark in his memory for all that some of them had been full of sunshine and Asgardian spring. Thor resolved to hold his brother and never let go; he would not let Loki fall ever again. He needed him by his side. Now that he knew that Loki was alive - Thor assumed that his brother had known that he would survive the fall. He felt foolish in thinking Loki so easily defeated, and he felt relieved that Loki hadn't chosen to take his own life. It all seemed simple to Thor now. Like when they were children – all the bad things could be brushed under the rug and forgotten within the hour.

He'd thought so many thoughts, had had so many questions, but now as he neared his brother with every breath and gust of wind – all of those evaporated. Thor felt an overwhelming need to just see Loki. To see him, and to touch him, and know that he was real, that Heimdall's sight had not proved false. Aside from that he abandoned all other expectations save that he was bringing his brother home. Asgard's princes would return safe and sound. There would be a feast!

Lightning snapped and thunder growled. Thor was happy and he flew straight. The storm in his wake encompassed all the horizon. And when he saw a metal bird struggling with the winds, he dropped on top of it. He recognized the flying machine for what it was, but figuring out an entrance took him a moment. Finally he blasted apart the back portion of the small ship and stepped in it. It took him but a second to realize that none of the people aboard were his brother.

“Where is Loki?” he asked locking his eyes with the man who stepped forward - leaving the controls at the front of the ship in the hands of another.

“That is none of your concern,” Hawkeye stated calmly. “I’ve been...”

“He’s my brother!” Thor frowned, protesting. This human just did not understand. For the moment – Thor was certain that this must be a misunderstanding. But he did grasp the handle of Mjölnir tighter in his hand.

“I’ve been asked to politely ask you to leave this planet,” Hawkeye drew an arrow when he saw the God of Thunder clutching his weapon, “But I can also use less than polite methods.”

“Where are you holding him?” if these people were holding his brother prisoner then they would learn the wrath of a god.

“Don’t you understand? You’re not welcome here,”  Hawkeye replied, all tense. He did not particularly wish to pick this fight, but orders were orders. And neither Thor nor Loki meant particularly much to him yet to pick one over the other.

“I’m not leaving without my brother,” Thor stated, growing tired of the conversation. He cast his senses out trying to pinpoint the location of his brother. It was easy to get confused as he got closer, because Loki never particularly desired to be found – but Thor was not one to give up easily. Or at all – not if it concerned his brother.

“Unfortunately I can’t allow that. But I will allow you to leave alive. If you do so now,” Hawkeye could be gracious. God or no god, an exploding arrow through the eye ought to do the trick.

Thor didn’t even grace the man with an answer. He had ceased to pay attention to him as soon as he realized that the man would be no help in locating Loki. Once he felt that he had the grasp of the direction – he flew out of the damaged ship with no other word.

“That was easier than expected…”  Hawkeye frowned. Then he noticed that Thor’s flight was in fact - direction towards the hovercraft. He radioed to warn Fury, and a moment later lightning struck the plane and it started to go down. All noise and wind, and desperation.

**LOH**

Thor paid no attention to the small crashing ship in his wake. He landed on the airstrip of the Helicarrier as a great incoming craft and roared his brother’s name so that every window trembled with the force of it. “LOKI!”

Fury stepped out of the shadows. The tails of his coat whipped about his legs in the great wind. His head was held high even as the sky opened and rain came pouring down. He faced wrath of the Asgardian head on.

“Give. Me. My. Brother,” Thor demanded, accentuating every word and leveling Mjölnir in Fury’s direction.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Fury had to shout to make himself heard. The wind around them howled with a voice that was nearly human.

“And why not?” Thor demanded, stepping closer. Mjölnir was grasped tight in his hand. He would not hesitate to knock this mortal off the platform if that would return him his brother. “I will not let you hold him prisoner,” whatever Loki might have done – Thor did not care. “He is a prince of Asgard.”

“He is not a prisoner,” the director stated with as much dignity as he could muster while shouting in a storm.

Thor frowned. Momentarily stupefied and confused. If his brother was not held against his will then why would he not come to greet Thor? Loki was _always_ there. Thor felt him like he felt his own heartbeat – he didn’t need to look for him. Loki was just… _always there._ And Thor had never realized how much Loki’s presence was a part of him until his brother fell and there was emptiness in the shadows. Even when he’d been banished on Earth – it had been different. It hadn’t… _hurt_ that much. “Where is Loki?”

“He is under our protection,” Fury replied. Now that Thor had rushed closer in his rage – there was little need to shout. The prince opened his mouth and Fury could guess what he would say from the surprised and amused expression that crossed the man’s face – so he continued before Thor could formulate his thoughts into words, “He has no wish to see anyone of Asgard. We will seek to fulfill that desire and protect him to the best of our ability.”

“Protect him from me?” Thor huffed and laughed heartily. “You do not understand,” he said, not unkindly, but with a clear sense of superiority. Whatever the mortal thought he knew – whatever tricks Loki had spun in his free time – Thor was here for Loki and he would not leave without him.

Thor’s time as a mortal had taught him a lot. His brother’s fall and the shambles that Asgard became after that had taught him even more. But once he heard that Loki was alive… All that pain faded. All those hard-earned lessons… faded. Thor’s resilience was one of his greatest strengths. And weaknesses.

If Loki was alive, then everything could be as it had been before. If Loki was alive, and Thor restored then all that had happened had been a hearty jest. Loki’s tricks at his coronation? Not betrayal. A jest. Though Thor contemplated holding it over his brother’s head for a while. Thor’s attack on Jötunheimr? Not treason. Not a prelude to war. A young god’s vigor and thoughtlessness. Something for their parents to keep over _his_ head for a while. Thor’s banishment? An epic tale for a night by the fire. Loki’s rule? Loki’s fall? Thor did not want to think about his brother’s fall. It took him a moment to realize that the mortal was speaking again.

“Oh, but we do,” Fury replied, dragging the words out. His tone reminded Thor of Frigga. “Loki was very clear in his instructions,” well, very clear on the main part. Fuzzy on the details. Like – how to keep an angry God of Thunder away?

Thor blinked. But inside he was reeling as if struck. “Loki,” he breathed his brother’s name. Then he tried again, “Loki… asked for this?” it had to be a jest. But as Thor looked around – the unforgiving grey of the sky and the aircraft – as he saw those that pressed their faces against distant windows. As he didn’t see one specific face among them.

“Yes,” and there was sympathy in Fury’s eyes if not in his voice.

Thor frowned. He would not accept rejection so easily. There was always a chance he was being lied to. But his heart dreaded the truth. Hadn’t he and Loki parted ways with a fight? Hadn’t he failed to save his brother? Hadn’t he… “LOKI! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!” Thor roared. “LOKI!”

Fury wished he had something to plug his ears with. Thor’s voice was carried by the thunder and the winds. The bulletproof windows trembled from the force of Thor’s demands. He watched as Thor stalked up and down the runway – demanding his brother’s attention. And Fury waited patiently for Thor to trot back to him once he realized that the shouting had no effect – neither on the people on the Helicarrier, nor Loki who hadn’t showed his face yet – and didn’t seem likely to show up.

“You have to leave,” Fury said once Thor was close enough for reasonable yelling in the wind.

“How can I take your word that he is truly well within your vessel?” Thor rumbled with the thunder. He had no need to shout.

“We performed the rite of Sacred Hospitality. He is our guest,” and that was something Fury had never expected to say. But the words seemed to have meaning for Thor like they had held some for Loki.

“I will not fight you on this, then,” Thor said, his shoulders slumping. The god seemed to shrink in stature. “I will not leave this world yet,” he didn’t mention that without Tesseract it would not be possible anyway. But the jewel was a secondary priority. “He will know where to find me should he wish to.” And Thor left. And with him the storm.

The sky cleared. Fury breathed easier, and finally there was no interference in the radio communications and Hawkeye reported a water landing – he and his pilot had to be fished out of the ocean, though both reported no injuries.

**LOH**

Loki had been halfway to his room when he gave in to the destructive curiosity to see Thor. He didn’t want to see his brother, but at the same time he wanted to know what Thor would say of him. What Fury would say. He tried to convince himself that he only wanted to see the exchange to know if the master spy would keep his word. Loki did not try to fool himself by contemplating trust towards these mortals. He may have been suicidal, but he was not an idiot.

But as he changed his direction, he didn’t make even two steps as he was accosted with a vision.

“My son,” Frigga breathed. The smile on her face ever so gentle.

Light tunneled around him. The walls that pressed on him so much in the narrow hallways of the Helicarrier disappeared and for a moment he lost his footing. As he fell, he found it again. As he looked around – he was in his mother’s rooms in Asgard.

Loki closed his eyes, and breathed, it felt like the first breath he’d taken in a while. Her words were like a caress. And then he shook himself out of it. “I am not your son.”

“That is not true,” she argued, reaching for him.

But he was forever out of her reach now. He surveyed their surroundings and came to the bitter conclusion that this was no soothing dream. The edges of things were too sharp. The colors too vivid. It was witchcraft of the queen of Asgard. “And you continue to lie,” he hissed, making no attempt at hiding his anger.

“You may have once had another mother, but that does not mean that you are not mine, and I am not yours,” Frigga was steadfast. This was a conversation she had tried to prepare herself for millennia.

“So you admit it?” he retreated, yet she followed.

“That I love you and claim you as my own? That has never been a secret,” she stated. “Do not tell me that you have ever doubted my love. I will not stand for it.”

Loki gritted his teeth so hard that the noise of his molars grinding made him wince. But he did not gainsay her. He did not dare.

“Come home,” she pleaded, extending her hands towards him.

He reached for her. But dropped his hand before he could grasp hers. He wished he could take her offer. He wished he could bask in the comfort she yearned to give, but he could not. He could not return to Asgard. He could not look Allfather in the face after everything – the lies, the crimes and the ending on that bridge. No. His _father_ had denied him, now he was returning the favor. But his eyes were sad as he gazed upon the queen. He wished things were simple as they had been long ago – that she could heal any hurt. That all could be forgiven and forgotten.

Loki could not be healed or forgiven. He could not be comforted and he could not forget. He felt even more of a stranger to her now than when he had first discovered his heritage. “I cannot.” And he ended the vision.

And when he opened his eyes - a figure was looming over him and he struck out without thinking. Captain America landed against the opposite wall with a force that would have caused concussion for anyone else. Loki blinked. And stared at his hand for a moment – the one he had thrown out as if in defense and blasted raw magic at the mortal. He should have killed the man – not out of want, but pure accident. Loki watched in horror as his hand trembled. He didn’t remember ever being so weak.

“How dare you presume to lay your hands upon my person?” Loki demanded, rising to his feet, balling his hands into fists to hide the shaking.

Steve swallowed commentary on how he had thought that Loki had fainted. Or had an episode of some sorts – after all, minutes ago Loki had declared his brother was arriving, Fury had declared all battle stations on alert and now Loki was here – passed out in a hall. It wasn’t a normal reaction by any measure. “I came to talk about your brother,” Steve said finally.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Loki snapped. His eyes flashed in warning – as if he would talk of Thor to this mortal.

“Clearly there is.”

 _LOKI,_ Thor’s shouting was heard even deep inside the ship.

“Clearly you are not the only one who cannot tell when they’re unwelcome,” Loki spat, turned on his heel and left for his room. He had no more curiosity. In fact, he conjured a magical barrier after barrier – to block out sound, sight and all Asgardian measures of interference to keep himself isolated. And once he was certain that he would not be observed or intruded upon - he retreated. Until his back hit the wall. And he fell. The magic he had spent was some he could hardly afford. The Void had been merciless on his senses. The Titan’s servants had been merciless in entirely different ways.

 


	8. Vivisection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, remember when I said that I'll play fast and loose with myths, movie canon, etc? It happened :D I still hope you'll enjoy the story :D This was the part I'd been waiting to write since I began this whole thing :D

Thor landed in storm and in anger. In helpless frustration, he threw his hammer, with a great yell, but felt no satisfaction when he heard something break. And then he landed in the coastal sand – on his knees, his head bent in grief. Mjölnir in his hand like a pet begging to be petted. Storm around him raged and it would be days before someone discovered that the Split Apple Rock in the Tasman bay, New Zealand was split no longer. In fact – it was there no longer. Thor had smashed it in his fury and had barely noticed.

Loki had _ignored_ him. And after Thor had come all this way. He pressed his fist into the sand. Lightning stroke around him and turned it into glass. He tried to reason with himself – he ought to brush it off. His brother could be vicious; Thor knew it better than anyone. But… This wasn’t like the time he changed the color of Sif’s hair. Or when he turned wine cups into snakes, because a servant was impertinent. This wasn’t even comparable to ruining Thor’s coronation, because that had been all Loki _focused_ on Thor. And now. He. _Ignored._ Him.

Thor howled against the heavens like the thunder. Waves rose in the sea with the wind and huge waves crashed against the shores. Entire towns flooded across the whole northern coastline.

He loved Loki like the day loved the night. And just like the two most constant values in the universe – whenever day reached out, the night retreated. However far Thor reached – it was never far enough. So, he learned to keep what was his – their brotherhood, the only bond he could lay claim to.

Thor had been sure he could spend a lifetime of the universe like this – warring and making merry with his friends, his brother among them. In time, he had forgotten all else. There was an entire side to him that he kept hidden – burrowed deep. And the monster woke now again with his anguish.

For a moment – when his parents told him that Loki lived – Thor had been certain that things could be as before. He could continue to be a brother to Loki. He could live as they had lived for thousands of years and find peace in that. He would be the king of Asgard that lead their people into adventures for glory, and Loki would be the king that somehow kept everyone alive and the kingdom running. Thor had never doubted that as brother or spouse – Loki’s place was at the throne. And he had been prepared to accept him as merely a brother.

He had had so many hopes over the years – all subtly dashed at one time or another. As eons passed Loki seemed to barely tolerate Thor’s overbearing claim as a sibling. Thor had no wish to give him cause for estrangement by disclosing his other desires. But now – Loki seemed to have rid himself of Thor regardless. And that was one loss that Thor could not bear. And what split his chest open was the knowledge that – there was no feat of legend that he could perform to undo it. He would have had more chance in swaying the hearts of the Norns than changing Loki’s mind.

He now bemoaned the easy rhythm that they had fallen into over the centuries where Thor had learned not to immediately pay attention to Loki’s place in the room. To not look at his face when they talked, so that he wouldn’t think of kissing him in an exuberant moment if he happened to forget himself. Thor had learned to orient himself by merely feeling his brother’s presence near and that had cost him his balance when Loki fell. For a few centuries Thor had learned to forget how much truly Loki meant to him.

Nothing could be as it had been before. He had failed his parents. He had failed his brother. Thor let it all roll over him like the storm washed over the coast – everything that he had protectively kept hidden within his heart for millennia, he let it all out.

**LOH**

Loki sat on the floor. Stunned. He felt like a vessel that no longer carried anything. The walls he had just now built in haste held the world at bay, but he knew that they would not hold forever. And he could not walk back out. He tried to rouse that fire inside that had helped even when the Other was elbows deep in his guts in the Void. As he was taken apart and as his magic pulled him back together. But it would no longer come. He felt like he’d been doused in ice cold river with Thor’s arrival.

He tried to remember that feeling – that knowledge that no matter what was being done to him, he would not perish. His gaze strayed to his scepter that lay on the floor. He knew where that knowledge and certainty had come from. The Titan had had the gem of mind, but he had not the mind to use it. Loki _had_ wondered if it was providence rather than accident that he had fallen right where it was, but, as he supposed, it no longer mattered.

He took a deep breath that pained everything inside. He felt tender and raw. And for an instant there was an uncontrollable urge to take the scepter and toss it into the sea. To never see the jewel that adorned it ever again. But just as the thought came – it went. He knew that he could not bring himself to do it – even should he take down the defenses he had spent so much to put up, even should he walk out the door and to the very edge of the Helicarrier.

Loki’s wish to die had died the moment he had hit the hard ground in the Void. The moment the impact took away what little breath he had. At that very second his dearest wish had been to be back at Asgard. Whether to face his father’s anger, his mother’s disappointment or his brother’s… Anything, he would have taken anything they wished to give him – ill or good, if it came from them. But it was not to be. Loki’s choices had landed him in less kind hands.

And now everything was different. He was different. There was a part of him that was still the child that could never step out of his brother’s shadow.  And then there was everything else. He felt that he no longer had a family. He felt the alienness of Jötunn heritage in his blood as a curse and monstrosity. Seeing his skin turn blue made him fear that his blood was truly turning to ice in his veins – that it was more than a heart-stopping feeling of horror. And yet that was not the most profound difference between the boy that fell and the man that rose.

The jewel had chosen him. He had not understood it at first. He had been rather preoccupied. But as things evolved – as the Titan tried to use the stone to peer into the head of the master of lies – Loki found himself as an impenetrable fortress. As the Titan ordered the Other to do what he would – Loki found that physical undoing, as excruciating, was not the undoing of him. It had been strange. It still was strange. All at once he had realized his deepest fears and had them calmed.

When stripped down and undone – what he feared most was the loss of his mind. It was his weapon. It was his one advantage in this universe. It was his power and he truly believed that it was _him._ Not his beliefs, or deeds, or what Asgardians would call _soul_ , but his mind. And even the most formidable would fear losing themselves in extreme circumstances – what Loki feared as Titan had tried to barrage against his defenses and into his mind was that under the onslaught he’d turn to simpleton, or abandon all sense of self. But the jewel burned brightly and instead of obeying its wielder it found a piece that it had been missing in Loki.

And Loki had been trying to make sense of that ever since. He was arrogant, but not so foolish to believe that it was merely an accident or a quirk of nature that would somehow designate him as _special._ He had never been special. Thor was the golden hero. The _special_ one. The heir to the throne and the most beloved son.

No, Loki knew that there was a chain of events that had led to that outcome. Just like there was a clear chain of events that had placed him here – pathetically hiding in his room on a Midgardian ship.

But the answer eluded him. He knew that the reason for that could very well be his overall exhaustion. He could hardly think clearly. After all – he had abandoned his plans of conquering Earth to use it later against the rest of Titan’s army. And he had seen it. _Primordial beasts._ The Chitauri were nothing compared to that, but he had hoped to decimate their ranks conquering Earth. And to use what humans where left to strike from within when the time came.

And a quirk of fate. A pause on the steps as he tried to catch his breath when his lungs weren’t being squeezed in somebody’s fist. And a human touched by destiny. And all of Loki’s plans abandoned.

If the Fates will prove him false and the Nine worlds will burn with the war Titan will bring – then Loki will never forgive himself that small moment in all the time of the universe.

He found that the scepter was in his hand. He leaned on it to rise. And as he came to a decision, he felt the world shift. A bright blue light and something hurt in his chest as much as it felt right. Another piece of the puzzle had found the place where it belonged. Loki did not have time to prepare. He winked out of existence – in a cascade of magic that no one was there to observe his barriers collapsed and worried eyes across the universe turned to the place. And saw nothing.

**LOH**

Loki for his part kept his composure even as worlds whipped around him and he found himself standing before a grand door that he recognized very well. The Vanir standing on both sides of the door tried to put away their weapons as hastily as they had drawn them before they recognized him. Loki smirked.

And it cost to maintain a carefree attitude. But he did. This was Vanaheim. Undoubtedly. And he wanted to pretend that he did not understand why he had been brought here. So he indulged himself by contemplating – _how._

It was not difficult to deduct an answer. The gem of the mind had seen something in him, and when the mortals tampered with Tesseract – he had felt the jewel of the space too. When he had said to Fury that it had shined even in the darkest corners of the universe – he had not exaggerated. He had simply omitted that not all were able to see it’s light like he did. As for how he traveled when he first came to Earth and now – it was painfully simple. Tesseract was gem of the space. Physical distance was meaningless to it.

Loki would not dare claim that he understood the powers and capabilities of the gems fully. He certainly knew more than any other, but they were still a mystery to him. Because – _why him?_ Why did they work differently for him than any other? The Titan could use the mind gem to make his plans and torture his minions – just not when it came to Loki. The Chitauri could tap into Tesseract and open a portal for their army. But again – the gem did not teleport them across entire branches of Yggdrasil for a simple wish. Like with Loki.

And he came back to the – _why._ It had been a simple decision. A simple wish. He needed rest. He was past merely yearning for it – he was near collapse. He needed soft hands and understanding, and as much as there were others that might desire to provide it – Loki could not ask. He didn’t even truly want to ask for welcome here. But it seemed that the decision had been made for him.

And then he was announced. The grand door to the throne room of Freya and Freyr opened.

“Loki of Asgard!” in an imperious voice declared the master of ceremonies.

Freya and Freyr had been lounging in their thrones. The time for accepting supplications of their people was over. The throne room was nearly empty – save for a few courtiers that were slow to leave. But after the announcement – all of them stopped. Freyja and Freyr exchanged looks.

They had heard of the prince's death. No details of the circumstances had been forthcoming from Asgard and with the Bifrost gone – they could not even attend the funeral ceremony. Instead they had held a private one here – on Vanaheim. For the people – but more for themselves than any political reason. Loki had been many things to them, but chief among them – a most dear friend who had once showed them both what they wanted the most.

It was retold in many tales how Loki had called Freyr and Freyja out on their mutual attraction at a most inconvenient time. Some – like the mortals – told that he had accused them of their love for each other as if it was sinful. Others painted it as a case of very poor courtly etiquette. Still more thought that he had spoken then as he had to merely embarrass the Vanir prince and princess.

But only the three of them knew the truth. Freyr and Freyja were twins – they came into the universe together and together they would leave it. They were bound to each other in ways that even the most long-lived races of the Yggdrasil worlds could not fully understand. They were each other’s perfect half of the same blood and body. And they had not seen it at all. So, wrapped in each other, so confused in the intensity of what they were and what they felt – they had found it easier to snap and hurt, and fight each other. The question of Vanaheim’s throne but an excuse.

And on that day – as Freyja had been about to commit the unthinkable – Loki had called them both out. And in the plainest words possible showed them an entirely different reality from the one they thought they knew. They owed him their happiness.

Freyja leaned forward in her seat. Her grip on the hand rests turned her knuckles nearly white. Freyr was already on his feet.

For they had also heard rumors that Loki was alive. They had so hoped that he still breathed. A most dear friend he was, indeed, but the royal couple had also taken him much further into their hearts than that. Freyja had never thought that doors could open slowly. But now it seemed to take forever.

She had walked many dark paths – the paths that connected the worlds, the ones that Loki, had showed her. She had walked them looking for him, and she had found nothing. It was Freyr who had kept hope alive with every whisper that perhaps, _perhaps_ all was not as it seemed.

The large doors of the throne room finally opened. Loki took three steps inside. Three large strides until his balance wavered and he stopped. He stood upright, but from all the way across the vast hall Freyja could see that his whole being trembled. And she jumped up from her throne and Freyr was behind her as she run – as if carried by the wind. None of them paid any heed to any members of the court still present.

Loki tried to breathe deep. And put one foot in front of the other. But he stumbled. And when he did – Freyja was by his side. She was the first. She folded her body under his arm, molded herself to his side, pulling his weight and holding him up. Freyr was but a moment behind his sister-wife. He drew the queen and Loki into an embrace – the royal couple creating a wall of protection around the prince of Asgard with their own bodies. Freyr pressed a light kiss to Loki’s temple.

“It's alright, my prince,” he said. “We shall keep you safe.”

As much as the Vanir nobles seemed interested in the return of Asgard’s prince to the living – Freyr dismissed them all, and the Vanir royal couple retreated to their rooms with their guest. They cared for him themselves – out of love and concern. And also knowing that Loki was deeply mistrustful when he was vulnerable.

They healed him with every touch they gave. It was magic as much as sympathy and affection. They bathed him – in scented water and kisses. They saw what darkness had been left on him by the pain he had experienced, and they removed it all. They were not called the gods for fertility, prosperity and sexuality for nothing. They gave him of themselves with pleasure. They gave him strength and calm. And when they were done, and they all lay entwined in the magnificent bed with golden headboard – Loki was on the verge of sleep for the first time in months.

Freyja gently carded her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp – Loki’s head pillowed on her breasts. Freyr held them both in an easy embrace – covering the prince’s back, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder.

“We are so very glad you are here with us,” Freyja whispered softly, lulling Loki further into rest.

“Rest, my prince,” Freyr joined. “We shall guard your peace,” it was a promise.

And Loki stopped torturing himself with – _why._ The _why_ was even easier than the _how._ He had wished for a place to rest.

He couldn’t let himself rest among the Midgardians simply because he did not trust them. Laws of Hospitality be damned – Loki could not close his eyes and leave himself vulnerable among those people. He could not bring himself to. Not the least – because Thor was on that world as well.

And for all the paths that he knew between worlds – there had been none that he wished to take. Those paths would take him too close to Titan. Too close to questions he had no answers for. He had no plans anymore. He had no strength left for them. He was at the end of his endurance. Even gods run out of stamina.

And of all the worlds – Asgard he wanted to see the least. His home seemed alien rather than comforting. Jötunheimr wasn’t even an option, and the rest meant next to nothing. He trusted them about as much as he trusted the Midgardians. And yet here he was. On Vanaheim.

His affair with the royal couple had begun even before they were an item. And it had continued after. Loki had never looked at it as a serious thing. It was a flirt – a mutual attraction and its fulfillment. He hadn’t thought it enough to warrant him a safe haven – that is, he had thought of it, but hadn’t believed it. Perhaps it was the bonds of their debt that nudged Loki into trusting them. Perhaps it was the hundreds of years of easy camaraderie that they all had shared. And perhaps – he was still falling and had no choice but to trust that there would be hands to catch him – as loath as he would be to admit that. It was not easy for Loki to let people in.

For her part – Freyja felt that she would personally skewer anyone who dared to disturb Loki’s peace. In her and her husband’s arms the prince had finally drifted off to sleep. The lines in his face eased. The shadows lightened underneath his eyes. Freyja pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and got a bit more comfortable. As she shared a look with her husband – they understood each other perfectly. There was but one person in the Nine Worlds that could make Loki run like this. She _wished_ she could skewer Thor.


	9. Weaknesses We Choose To Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been unbearably long, and I apologize for that. To any still following the story - here goes nothing :)

 

It took Thor longer than it should have to realize that something was wrong. This was his moment of undoing – the untempered heartache from the flat rejection that Loki had dealt out overwhelmed him. He could not distinguish one sorrow from another. But it wasn’t long until he noticed that world once again tilted just a bit to the left. “No,” he thought, he breathed, he had not the strength to shout denial.

The storm around him lessened. The unforgiving hail and wet whips of rain slowed into a heavy rainfall. Winds still howled, but no longer sought to tear houses apart wall by wall. Thor was stunned.

Mjölnir slipped from his palm, her head landing in the sand with a soft thud. Thor leaned on it for balance, unseeing. He rose slowly as if the storm had beaten his legs out from under him. He pulled his right leg up, bent at the knee, put his weight on it and rose. His left leg buckled, sending him back to his knees. The horizon tipped to the left just enough to hurt.

It was a disorienting and nauseatingly familiar feeling. He’d lived with it for months. He knew it well. As he finally stood, slumping a little to one side, he could imagine Loki’s snide voice in his head. Mocking him for his weakness. Telling him how this was all his own fault. _The great warrior defeated by a little spatial misalignment, this is what happens when you’re stupid enough to bind yourself to something,_ Loki would say. But Thor hadn’t bound himself to something. He’d bound himself to someone.

Thor could orient himself on any rock or planet in Yggdrasil. Because he had Loki. If he’d know about compasses on Earth – he would know to call Loki his North. Now he was lost again.

 _When? Where? How?_ There were no weapons on Earth that could hurt a god. Yet the truth was before his very eyes. There was no way off this world either. Not that Thor knew. He didn't even consider the Tesseract, because invoking its power would mean calling out to Heimdall and the Allfather. He didn't doubt that Loki would not do that or that he would be standing still here if Loki was returned to Asgard with the jewel. He cursed himself for a fool. He’d taken the word given to him that ancient rites had been performed. But he hadn’t checked. He had had no way of making sure, he’d just… believed them. Because he had trusted those humans. And he’d been wrong.

 _Wouldn’t be the first time,_ he imagined Loki’s smirk as he’d say the words. His eyes burned, but no tears fell. Rage overtook Thor.

It took him longer to find the Helicarrier than the first time, but find it he did. And he came with thunder and lightning. Rain fell nearly horizontally. Winds reached record hurricane speeds as he landed on the tarmac even as the massive ship fell from the sky, one of the ship’s engines smashed to smithereens by Mjölnir’s fury.

“I took you for your word, and now you shall pay for your lies!” Thor roared itching for somebody to confront him. He sent Mjölnir and killed another engine.

He needed battle, he craved and hungered for it. There was emptiness in him and he ached to fill it with the blood of his enemies. Ever before in his long life when his spirits were high, he did battle for glory. It used to be that he fought for the songs that would be sung. Now he wanted revenge. He’d never known the feeling as he knew it now. It was a dreadful beast that settled in his chest. It devoured him with every act of violence that he made, yet he couldn’t stop.

When Loki fell for the first time – there had only been himself to blame. Now he had an entire world to blame.

The vengeance he’d wanted to exact on Jötunheimr for his botched coronation was a child’s play compared to the call for murder that like a siren’s song beat with every pulse of his blood now. Unbridled rage protected him from pain, shielded him from compassion and reason. The lessons he had learned when he had been banished had transformed him from a boy into a man. And there was no comparison between the anger of a boy and the fury of a man who had lost… Loki. He’d lost Loki. His brother was gone. There was no stopping Thor.

Everything that had been, everything that could have been, everything that could no longer be – the missed opportunities burned like a sun close to end of its life. If Thor were a star, he’d be a supernova about to explode.

Nick Fury’s voice over the loudspeakers came cool and collected, “Please refrain from further damaging the ship. It is a public property.”

Thor turned towards the towering structure that had floor-to-ceiling windows. Sound seemed to be coming from there. He didn’t try to look menacing. He didn’t have to. He twirled Mjölnir in his palm.

The Helicarrier crashed into the ocean in a barely controlled fall. Everyone in the control room fell – some sprawled on the consoles, some fell against the stairs, trying to hold on the railings. Most broke against the ground. Even Thor lost his balance outside.

“Explain your accusations,” Fury continued as if he hadn’t been thrown under the table by the violence of the landing. In parallel he signaled for someone to find him Loki. The rest of the team were already on their way to confront their uninvited guest.

“You claimed my brother was safe within your halls, but he is now gone,” Thor roared. He didn’t need a loudspeaker to make himself heard. In a startling contrast – his motions were nearly idle as he sent Mjölnir into a cluster of planes that had drifted together but hadn’t yet been completely torn from their bindings. Million dollar aircrafts became junk piles.

“I said that and I meant it. It was true,” Fury shrugged off the agent that came at him with a First Aid kit. He wasn’t sure if Thor could see him (high up and deep in the control room) – but he could see Thor rather well. It didn’t seem that Thor even cared where the person he spoke to was. The Asgardian seemed intent on wanton destruction. It was entirely unlike everything that Fury had heard about him from Coulson and Selvig.

Fury’s earpiece crackled and Hawkeye’s voice came through. Radio communications were restored. “He’s not here.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Hawkeye continued. “Loki’s not on the ship.”

Fury glanced at the shouting mess on his tarmac and cursed inwardly. His only bargaining chip was gone.

Had Loki done it on purpose? He had no way of knowing, and at the moment he was hard pressed to care. Some part of him knew that there had to be something else going on – for all that Loki had been intent on not meeting Thor, he had also been determined about dealing with the Chitauri.

Of course – all of that might have been a lie. Perhaps there was no invading army on their doorstep. Perhaps he was stuck with one angry Norse god or another. He didn’t think so. But the situation was what it was. And Loki was gone. This is exactly why he had a backup plan.

“You have killed a prince of Asgard and you shall pay for it in blood!” Thor stalked the tarmac like a predator ready to pounce. As he turned, he was met with a company.

“He might have just left,” rain had drenched his uniform within moments, his shield was clutched in his hand, but Steve’s voice was calm and pleasant as if he was just about to have tea.

“Where do you propose he went?” Stark bantered, landing lightly beside Captain America. “Not many Starbucks around.”

“I’ve seen what that dude could do. If he wanted to pop somewhere for a moment – he easily could,” Hawkeye shrugged easily, even though every push of the wind was a slap in the face, even though his every muscle was tense – ready to pull an arrow or a gun at a moment’s notice. He wished Natasha had made it back. He wished they had had the time to recruit Doctor Banner.

“LIARS,” Thor spat. “There is no way off this world but by the Bifrost and the Bifrost is destroyed.”

“There is the Tesseract,” bundled in yellow raincoat, Erik Selvig braved the storm and the angry god at its center.

A flurry of protests rose in the air – the Earth’s mightiest heroes sought to dissuade the professor from joining their stand, but doctor Selvig just waved them off. Well, he tried to wave, but then the wind slapped his hood in his face, so he stuck with holding it away from his eyes.

“And the Tesseract is here,” Erik finished, trotting out in the storm.

The sight of an old friend stunned Thor, and for a moment the darkness in him receded. Wind gentled. Rain stopped beating down on their heads, turning into a softer drizzle. Black clouds still covered all the horizon, but for a moment there was calm. Like the eye of the storm.

Thor had been a heartbeat away from scattering the feeble line of mortal defense with Mjölnir, but seeing Selvig brought back memories of a different time. Of Jane. Of Warriors Three and Lady Sif. Of a simpler time. Thunder rung with the force of a thousand cannons guns fired at once, “I called you a friend, but if you had a hand in this...”

“No one has harmed Loki,” Erik tried to reassure him. “Why would you think we have?” there was genuine curiosity in his tone, and a soft admonishment. There was also a part of him that wondered at which point he had lost his mind. Why he felt the need to step forward whenever there was an angry god nearby, he had no idea.

“Because I feel him when he is near, and now it is as if he was dead,” lightning streaked through the sky, but didn’t strike anything. Thor’s voice was as his face – grim beyond reckoning. His gaze stuck to the ground. His knuckles nearly white as he clenched Mjölnir in his fist. Drenched yellow hair stuck to his face.

“Maybe your bro-dar is broken,” Tony sniped.

Thor barely had to lift his hand to throw Mjölnir. It hit Iron Man straight in the chest and sent him flying. Captain America looked ready to interfere, and Hawkeye drew an arrow, but Erik raised his hands and stepped between them.

“He came here through the Tesseract, he might have left that way too,” Erik tried to reason. And inwardly cursed himself for stepping in between two sides ready to fight. “It _has_ been misbehaving.”

Mjölnir returned to Thor. “Enough!” he growled and prepared to strike.

**LOH**

Loki slept fitfully. Once the deep, dead sleep of exhaustion lifted he didn’t pass into a wholesome slumber. Scenes rushed behind his eyelids. Flashes of red – like iron when it is heated in the fire. Flashes of white – when the tip of the spear is near melting. He tried to struggle, but he couldn’t. His arms were bound, they were bound, and he couldn’t… He couldn’t breathe so he couldn’t scream. The noise in his ears was that of a soft hiss akin to when creeping heat broke the surface of skin, when fat sizzled, meat burned and eyes popped, spilling liquid across his cheeks, when…

He sat up and choked. His hands gripping and tearing the warm sheets beneath him. He wasn’t blind. He wasn’t bound. He was alive. What he had mistaken for bonds were Freya’s arms as she had tried to wake him. He nearly flinched when Freyr stroked his back to calm him, but managed to hide his grimace in time.

“I’m fine,” he lied before his bedmates could say anything.

He didn’t see the look that Freya and Freyr exchanged behind his back. He did feel Freya when she pressed her naked form against his side. White silk sheets crumpled underneath as she moved shamelessly. Her curious touch tracing some imaginary lines on his body. Loki forcibly took a deep breath, as if readying himself to release the tension that still held his senses hostage when he noticed what he should have noticed when he first opened his eyes.

He was blue.

He was fucking blue. He jumped from the gentleness of Freya’s and Freyr’s touches as if their skin burned his. Three, four steps from the bed, he paused – frantically calculating his escape routes. He could crash through the arched windows, on the balcony, he could jump – they were high in the castle, but he could survive the jump. Likely. The sun was just rising outside.

He turned around. There was no need to be foolish. He could run towards the doors. There was a sitting room between the bedroom chamber and the hallway. There were guards at the end of it. Not just ceremonial ones – well trained ones. But if he had enough of a purpose in his stride, they would not dare stop him. They had no way of knowing what had just happened. Unless they had eyes, that is – Loki could not stop the snide realization that materialized in his mind.

If he could only stop being blue, he thought desperately as he backed up until he ran into the back of an elegant settee. He imagined that the golden embellishments that lined the top of the seating would be cold against any other skin but his. He gripped the edge for balance as much as out of anger. A thin sheet of ice spread from his hands outward, damaging the gold, ruining the velvet upholstery.

“Breathe,” Freyr was stuck on the edge of the bed in the middle of a motion of getting up – stopped only by Freya’s iron grip on his bicep. “Please, just breathe,” his other hand was outstretched towards Loki.

Loki closed his eyes. He forced them shut. He couldn’t bear to see the two Vanir, couldn’t bear to read on their faces the disgust and anger, that surely must be there. He felt enough of that on his own. _This._ This weakness enraged him even as he flinched at the sound of leaves rustling in the wind outside. He hated this feebleness of character that made him tremble at the soft whish of silk sheets when his lovers moved on the bed. His ears painted a picture on his eyelids that his eyes refused to see.

He heard the sun rise by the sharp birdsong that twittered louder than it should have with the balcony doors closed. By the soft rustle of curtains, he guessed that a window had to be open somewhere. He hadn’t noticed that before.

He heard soft movement from the direction of the bed. He could guess that Freyr had moved to the very edge, both feet planted on the floor, sheets crumpled around his waist. Not an attempt at modesty, simply still tangled in bedding as well as remnants of sleep. He could guess that Freya had followed. Her grip on her brother leaving bruises by now. Her long hair spilling over her shoulders in waves, framing – not hiding – her form. The rising sun would lend an illusion of a crown upon her golden head, a soft touch along her pale skin, just tinged with pink hue.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as if that would make him deafer. Ice cracked and melted underneath his fingers, the gold lining he clutched became wet and cold in his grip. He did not notice, but he had returned to his usual look.

Freya’s eyes were wide and she was glad Loki’s were shut, because in hers -  there was a glimmer of fear. And it was because of Loki. But despite what he would think if he happened to see it – it wasn’t because she was afraid of the prince. She was scared for him.  Her harsh clutch on her brother’s arm, holding him back, was a warning not to startle Loki into fleeing.

“Just take a deep breath, please,” Freyr tried to sound calm. He saw Freya’s wisdom in holding back – and not overwhelming their lover at a time like this. Though to tell the truth, he felt the same anxiousness as his wife – they both yearned to rush forward like they had in the throne room. They both wanted to offer support and have it accepted. Yet they both knew that it was not to be so.

There was little that they could offer that would be accepted. There was even less that they ought to offer – there were many who would argue that their claim superseded theirs. In the end, none of that mattered. They did not seek to determine Loki – to tell him where he should go and what he should do or even who should he be or with whom.

“Even gods need a breath every now and then,” Freya said softly, her voice a melody that could make the blind see again and the deaf hear again.

Loki inhaled deeply. It took effort. Then he laughed – it was a short, desperate sound with no joy in it. He had slept for the first time in months only to be assaulted with visions. Memories. He shook his head in amusement tinged with disgust. He despised his weakness. That was why he had been so reluctant to rest – exhaustion had rendered him single minded and efficient. Even a little rest had opened floodgates for many more things that he did not wish to either feel or think about. When he opened his eyes, they were green.

“Now you know who I truly am.”

And he meant it. His blue form was the ugly truth of his origin. The sin he bore onto his very skin for daring to exist. He was an abomination born of monsters. And yet the greatest scorn he felt was for that fledging feeling in his chest, to the left, where he cared the tiniest amount for what anyone else thought of him. Where he cared for the tone of Freyr’s voice. Where he cared for the expression on Freya’s face.

“Loki,” there was entreaty in those words as Freyr rose from the bed. There was invitation in his outstretched hand. There was warmth in Freya’s eyes as she moved to stand with her brother.

Loki grimaced and turned away. There was madness in him, he knew. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant realization. And it was something that he couldn’t even blame on the Titan. It was something that he had felt before he fell. Maybe even before he discovered his true ancestry. Though now that he knew it, he knew to blame blood, sinew and his own very bone marrow for the broken makeup of his being.

Something was wrong, yet he didn’t know what. He hadn’t had a lot of time to _think_ on it when he’d been in the Void. He could hardly afford the time for introspection now. The dawn was rising on Vanaheim. He counted leaves on the tips of the oaks that he could see in the distance as markers while he did the calculations for converting time passages between the worlds in his head. Five days had to have passed on Midgard.

Nobody had called for guards yet. Loki cocked his head sideways as he leaned against the back of the settee, no longer gripping it, and finally turning his attention back to his lovers. For all the world looking – he was the very picture of a relaxed and decadent god. He wondered whether the Vanir royals were fools for trusting him. Or whether he could use them. He could not afford any other kind of thinking right now.

“I am not a son of Asgard,” he proclaimed in the silent room.

He had lived his entire life in his brother’s shadow, and now with this proclamation he felt free. He was not a son of Asgard. He was not his brother’s brother. Thor finally had no claim on him. No right to his being or his life.

The songs about them that people liked to sing where more false than true, though Loki supposed there was some part of him that _was_ jealous. It was only natural, if not particularly honorable. Thor was adored in the first moment – wherever he went. Thor was brash and loud, and always got what he wanted. But for all of that, Loki had never had the desire to compete with Thor for their father’s… for Odin’s attention. And he had never coveted the throne of Asgard either.

The main issue that Loki had with Thor lay in Thor’s presumptuousness. _Remember your place, brother,_ Thor had said to him more often than Loki cared to remember. But he knew his place, he knew it well, and he despised it and reveled in it in equal parts forever oscillating between the two.

His place was a place of honor. Always at Thor’s side. Always at his beck and call. His place was that of a brother, of an advisor, of a confidante. But only ever as far as Thor wanted, wished or cared. He was a brother and an equal until Thor wanted something else more. He was an advisor until Thor no longer wanted to listen and damned be the consequences. He was a confidant until Thor grew tired of him. And Loki was supposed to be happy with it, he was supposed to be _grateful_ for something he never had the freedom to deny _._ And that expectation was the part that he hated.

The Warriors Three followed Thor around out of their own free wills. They considered it an adventure and an honor. Loki supposed that on some level they felt that he didn’t share those feelings of delirious joy, and that that was the reason they had never warmed to him much. But while they could walk away and never show their faces again – Loki could never hope to hide from Thor for long.

And on the heels of that thought came realization.

Leaning against the gold rimmed settee, naked in his Asgardian form, Loki moved from the issue that was still largely undiscussed to the next one. “I request the use of your Bifrost.”

He sincerely hoped Midgard was still standing. He still had need of it.

 


	10. Queens' Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDITED-REPOSTED: 01/01/2018, now has approx. +3000 words 
> 
> Main points remain the same as in the previous edition of this chapter: (spoilers if you haven't read it at all)
> 
>   * Idunn, an emissary from Fárbauti, demands Loki be turned over to Jötunheimr. Frigga says - no.
>   * Loki discovers consequences to the ritual of sacred hospitality, because as he is relaxing with Freyr and Freyja, Thor - thinking him killed - wreaks his vengeance upon Earth. Loki uses the infinity stone of Time, that he didn't know he had, to turn back the time for the entire universe to undo what Thor did.
>   * Then he and Freyr and Freyja show up to stop Thor from repeating the same mistake again.
> 


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED-REPOSTED: 01/01/2018, now has approx. +3000 words
> 
> I wasn't entirely happy with the chapter as it was originally. It kept nagging at me and I thought I can do better - to express in a better way everything that I felt about this particular situation, so I kept at it. The gist of the story in the chapter is the same, it's the presentation that changed. Some parts have been rearranged, some rewritten and many have been fattened up. All in all, it's about the length of 2 chapters now. If you read the previous version, you don't have to reread it to know what happened. This version is my guilty pleasure and I kinda hope you'll enjoy it too!
> 
> Happy New Year!

Peering through the vast distances that separated the worlds of Yggdrasil was not easy even for the greatest of magicians. Only Heimdall had the gift to see far into the reaches of the universe unaided by magic, and even his sight could be hindered and tampered with. However, the power of the All-Mother was nothing to sneer at either. Frigga had summoned vast amounts of magical energy to keep watch on her two sons – both so far away from her.

The queen detested being trapped on Asgard, now, when she had a desire to go. And while this was not the first time in a million years that travel became inaccessible to her, never had it chafed as much as it did now. For no portal could reach as far as she wanted to go, no ship could travel fast enough. All she could do was watch from afar. That seemed to be her destiny from the start.

Watching Midgard was simple enough – their days were fast compared to the slow dance of the sun and moon in Asgard’s sky, but Frigga wove her spells in the small waves of water in her scrying bowl, and the images became clear and slow.

All-Mother could follow both of her sons on Midgard easily enough – Thor shone like a beacon and finding him took no time at all, and once she had found Thor, she followed him to find her youngest son. Loki shrouded himself in mists – no doubt to hide himself from Heimdall’s sight – and that hid his form from Frigga too, but she followed his presence anyway. That is, she followed the emptiness that seemed to cloak and surround the bright nature of her son. She looked for him in reflections and in the eyes of the people around him.

And while she followed Thor’s plight after his brother’s rejection, unable to offer any consolation, it was the sudden flare of cosmic forces – magic that had the bright flash of an infinity gem – that drew her attention away again. Yet all she saw when she looked was a gray, barren room. One that was not fit to hold prisoners much less guests, and the emptiness of it rung true. _Not a magical lie, then_.

Loki had disappeared from the sight of those that cared about him once again.

It took Frigga some time to find her youngest son again after that. She could not see between the worlds – her eyes failed her in the blackness of the Void, but she did scry one barren rock after another searching for any trace of her child. It had been more of a hope and an educated guess than thorough search of the known cosmos that led her to look upon Vanaheimr.

Watching Vanaheimr was different than gazing at Midgard. Vanaheimr made circles around its sun more slowly than Asgard – watching the world of Vanir was like watching time fall asleep.

There were few beings in the whole of known universe that could watch but one world from a distance, much less two, much less make sense of what it was that was being seen. But it was not the practical improbabilities of achieving such a feat in the first place that bothered Frigga. It was the insolence of the queen of Vanaheimr.

The very minute she had the whole world of the Asgardian sister-race shimmering in her bowl of magic and water at her leisure - once she had finally caught a glimpse of her son in their throne room – suddenly the water in her scrying bowl bubbled and boiled. The magic twisted and withered into scalding steam and all the images disappeared.

Frigga coughed as she caught a tendril of the smoke in her lungs – the magic dying a quick death like a scrap of paper set ablaze.

 _How dare she?!_ _How dare that little vixen use magic I taught my son against me!_

Frigga seethed. Rage flared in her like a forest fire born from a wayward spark.

Fuming she rose from the table and moved out on the balcony. There was a burning sensation beneath her left breast, not from anger, but the magic she had inhaled. In fresh air it faded quickly. She judged the damage to her lungs superficial and easily healed – more of an irritation than a problem. A warning from Freyja.

Frigga had found her son. Yet before she could… Before she could even properly look at him – he had been taken away again.

She found herself uncharacteristically furious. Loki was _her_ child. What right did Freyja have to burn the eyes of the queen to whom she owed obedience? If Bifrost were working, she might have dragged the Vanir queen before the throne of Asgard and demanded submission. All of the Nine worlds owed their allegiance to Asgard.

But as it was – the Bifrost was gone. Frigga took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hand on her heart. She tapped lightly as she called back to mind the single moment she had been able to glimpse her son.

It had surprised her to finally see him. He had been so carefully hidden on Midgard that even the reflections were dull – it had made her proud of his talent and sad - that he felt the need to protect himself so. Yet on Vanaheimr he had been a feast to her eyes – all magic stripped away, her babe uncloaked before her sight. And yet the scene had been a sorrow to her heart.

As far as she had seen – Loki was not well. Far from it. And as he had stumbled, a bright flash had blinded Frigga. Undoubtedly as Freyja had ejected All-Mother from Vanaheimr. Frigga could hardly decide if she felt more furious with Freyja for her insolence or with Odin. For hadn’t her husband stood before her and assured her that their son was well? She now knew those words for the falsehood that they were.

She could hardly remember the last time Loki had been so graceless as he moved. It might’ve been as far in her memory as the time when terrible illness had struck him when he still had been a small child. Then Odin had bartered an entire world away to gain a cure that would heal their boy.

As angry as Frigga was at the act of defiance from Freyja, she couldn’t help but feel grateful for it as well. As All-Mother she expected obedience from nearly all the worlds of Yggdrasil and all the peoples in them – be they stonemasons, farmers or queens and kings.

As Loki’s mother, she was heartened that there were those that cared for her son enough to risk All-Mother’s wrath.

The fact that Freyja had used a trick that Frigga herself had helped Loki master long ago – that told her that the dalliance, on which she had always looked unfavorably, was more than she had thought. She knew her son guarded the knowledge and skills he learned closely – not least because the things he knew could be dangerous in hands of any who didn’t have full comprehension of what it is that they knew. The price of knowledge was the obligation to gain more knowledge. And the responsibility of keeping it.

But apparently Loki had taken the time and the effort to tutor the queen of Vanaheimr.

Frigga had never approved of Loki’s entanglement with the Vanir twins, though she had kept her silence on the matter so not to escalate it. Her reservations had very little to do with Freyja and Freyr themselves and more with the history between throne of Vanaheimr and throne of Asgard. But she took comfort in remembering that those events had unfolded long before Loki came into the world, and the twins had also been but babes then.

She rubbed her temples gently. She had a headache born from the confrontation. Tension curled at the root of her skull and sharp stabs hounded her temples. Her bright eyes shone even brighter for the pain she bore.

It would be some time before she could attempt scrying again. Her energies were spent as was the water. She needed the water from an everlasting spring deep into Asgard’s mountains. It had to be collected by the hand that would use it else the purity of it would be corrupted by another’s intent. And Frigga had just used the last that she had had stored away.

There was a knock on the door.

Frigga voiced her permission for the door to open, and one of her handmaidens walked in and curtseyed, “There is an emissary here to see you, Your Majesty.”

Frigga frowned, and her gaze turned to the tapestry that she had been weaving before Loki fell, she tried to see in it a hint of what was to come. The threads of the future lay unwoven and tangled. She had not touched it for the whole time she had believed her son dead. The answers to her questions eluded her. Whatever was coming – she was to have no warning of it.

“Who?” she asked even as she felt bile climbing up her throat. Frigga did not like surprises.

Who would come here now? There were ways to come to Asgard, of course. One could always take a ship and sail the stars – though that was a long and tedious journey. And then there were the other Bifrosts. Several worlds had those. Every single one had been installed as a part of a cease-fire agreement or after a full surrender to Asgard.

But all of those doorways worked only one way. They were capable of sending people to other worlds, but not plucking them _from_ other realms. It was partially a mechanism of control and a method to enforce cooperation and trade relations between the lands - if a Bifrost worked only one way, then to come and go, the peoples needed to work together. Asgard had had the only Bifrost capable of two-way travel.

“The emissary claims to speak for Fárbauti, Queen of Jötnar.”

Frigga suddenly felt faint. Events seemed to conspire against her; her sons were gone from her sight. Thor was on a rampage on Midgard – she didn’t feel sorry for Midgard itself, but she dreaded to think how this destruction would affect Thor himself. Her son, for all his temper tantrums, always regretted the actions taken when in enflamed temper. And Loki, so wounded and in the hands of Vanir twins. Now this _emissary._

“To see me?” she clarified. _Not to see Odin?_

“Yes, All-Mother. The emissary has requested formal reception.”

Frigga nodded stiffly. For a short moment, she contemplated denying the emissary’s request – but she judged that the tradition would protect her and her interests as much as it would Fárbauti’s mouthpiece.

Absent-mindedly she gave precise orders to make rooms for the ambassador and their entourage. Courtly protocol was something she could perform as easy as breathing. She had been doing it for thousands of years. She gave directions to prepare all things needed for the rite of hospitality.

More handmaidens poured into the room. They led Frigga over to her dresser and the mirrors that surrounded it. They combed her hair and dressed her, requiring only the barest participation of their mistress to fulfill their tasks. The queen was lost in thought, searching for the meaning of this mysterious visit – she went through the motions of dressing as she had for centuries. Her handmaidens had never failed their duty yet.

What possible reason could Fárbauti have to send someone now, Frigga wondered. Months had passed since the attack. All missives out of Jötunheimr had assured them that there was no gearing for war. Yet maybe that was not true. What other reason could there be for this visit but war?

The only thing that had changed from dull beat of the last months was that Loki turned out to be living. But there was no way for anyone on Jötunheimr to know that. It hadn’t been announced in Asgard yet – the news couldn’t have reached anyone else. And Loki had been on Vanaheimr for less than a day – so knowledge couldn’t have leaked from there either due to time difference between Vanaheimr and Jötunheimr.

Yet even if there was a traitor somewhere in the ranks of the All-Mother and All-Father, and Jötunheimr had learned that the King who attacked them lived – they had to know, they had to, that Asgard would never give him up.

An old fear nagged at Frigga – a terror that whispered that somehow Fárbauti had guessed the truth of Loki. That the emissary was here to ascertain it.

Frigga met her own gaze in the mirror and ordered the handmaidens to don her ceremonial armor. Even if her fears were to come true – even if somehow Fárbauti thought to know the truth – Frigga would _not_ admit to it. There were truths she owed to her son. But _nothing_ that she felt she owed to the monstress that ruled Jötunheimr. She could lie well enough if the occasion should call for it.

***

All-Mother walked into the hall where she had chosen to receive her visitor. Golden columns. Walls adorned in tapestries that told tales of the history of Yggdrasil, all woven by Frigga’s own hand long before the events in them had taken place. She settled in her throne – less ostentatious than the one Odin sat on in the grand hall, but no less intimidating. She was the All-Mother of the worlds of Yggdrasil.

She took a deep breath and motioned for the envoy to be permitted to come before her.

And as they walked in, she suddenly understood why this wasn’t done before Odin and the court. And she understood why ancient formalities had been insisted upon. _Idunn!_

“I bring greetings from Fárbauti, queen of Jötnar, All-Mother,” the emissary bowed low and her entourage followed her suit. Idunn was a tall, fay-like woman. Sun kissed hair and delicate features. She had not the blue skin of Jötunn for she was not one of them.

“I accept and extend the hospitality of Asgard and the protection of the All-Mother to the one who brings the tidings,” Frigga said formally, every word hard and biting. The surprise of the identity of the emissary was enough to topple anyone, but Frigga was the queen of Asgard – she contained herself. Even when those that should be long dead stood before her.

“I accept and offer myself to the pleasure of my hosts,” the emissary replied equally formally and rose from her curtsey.

“Then drop the pretense, Idunn!” Frigga snapped once the ritual words had been spoken. “Since when do you speak for Jötunheimr?”

Frigga was renowned as a gentle and compassionate queen, just like Odin was renowned as wise and benevolent king. But as Odin has once been a merciless conqueror so Frigga had a history that did not match her reputation either.

“You would not even wait for the meal to be served?” Idunn asked, a sly smile on her thin lips. Food and drink was as much part of the tradition as the words they had spoken and with half the ritual already performed – she counted that the All-Mother would not back out now.

“It would seem that more than enough time has already passed,” Frigga retorted, but didn’t press further. Nothing was served best by rushing into things. She rose from the throne and they moved to the adjourning dining hall.

The meal seemed to drag on for centuries. Thirteen servings of food were passed around. Frigga barely nibbled on her food. Her chefs had outdone themselves, once again – it was a feast fit to be served at All-Mother’s table. Yet she could barely swallow anything. She observed Idunn far more than she ate.

Idunn was of Vanir descent. She was the elder sister of Freyja and Freyr, in fact. The last true queen of Vanaheimr.

After Odin had made conquest of Vanaheimr – Idunn had surrendered her throne to Asgard to spare her people further bloodshed. She had also refused to keep the right of the courtesy title and right to local governance under Asgard’s overarching rule. She had abdicated in favor of her newborn siblings, and disappeared.

Centuries later when she had resurfaced – it had been in the court of Odin and Frigga – as wife to Bragi, the chief poet of Asgard’s court.

Idunn didn’t seem to have the same trouble with food as Frigga. She ate and enjoyed her meal. But she watched All-Mother no less than she herself was being watched. Once the last morsel of food was gone from her plate, and the wine cup was dry – not to be filled again that night, she finally spoke, “I want you to know that I am empowered to speak for queen Fárbauti.”

The meaning she conveyed was that she wasn’t just in Asgard to deliver a message – she was here to strike a bargain if necessary.

Frigga did not like Idunn. Once she had felt sorry for the fair queen – one would have to have a heart of stone not to feel sorrow when the golden city of Vanaheimr fell, when it’s gardens burned and the old king and queen with them. Leaving Idunn to take her crown in the middle of a war.  Frigga had cried when she had woven the scene of Idunn surrendering her nearly unworn crown to Odin in her tapestries. But that feeling of sympathy was long gone.

Idunn had wormed her way into Asgard’s court under false pretenses. Frigga knew that Idunn had charmed Bragi to have access to the inner sanctum of the palace. The All-Mother knew that the night before Idunn left – the fallen queen had glimpsed at privileged information from the War Council chambers. But whatever Idunn had taken – Frigga could not reveal for the thread of that betrayal had not yet finished its weave, and the All-Mother was bound to secrecy by Norns themselves – her gift was to see the future, but not tell it. Not until the deed was done.

She wondered if the ending of that tale was finally about to reveal itself.

Frigga wanted to ask about Bragi. She wanted to ask if Idunn thought of him at all and she wanted to twist the dagger and have the musicians play one of the songs that Bragi had composed – begging his goddess to return. But instead she snarled a different question, “Since when?” Since when did Idunn speak for Fárbauti.

“That matters not, All-Mother,” Idunn shrugged and glanced around – noting the changes in Asgard since she had last been here. There were few.

“I decide what matters,” Frigga replied coldly. She could imagine every charge upon which Idunn could call Asgard’s fault, but she could also counter every single one with a betrayal committed against Asgard.

But Idunn acquiesced gracefully, “Since the All-Father laid waste to the Winter Palace,” she answered, paused. Smirked, and corrected herself, “Since the _first_ time that All-Father laid waste to the Winter Palace, that is.”

Frigga did not let her emotions show on her face. The time that Idunn named was ancient history. The event had been early in the war with the Jötnar. Quite a while after Idunn had disappeared from Asgard’s court. Centuries before either Thor or Loki had been born.

“Say your piece,” Frigga ordered, braced for the worst.

“Queen Fárbauti asks for remunerations for the latest damage done,” Idunn said, her gaze steady upon the All-Mother. “The actions of the crown prince and the last two Kings of Asgard have broken all treaties and any good will that had existed between our two nations. Jötunheimr will not stand to be subjugated this way.”

Asgard may have conquered Jötunheimr once - and the frost giants had itched to be free ever since.

“Jötunheimr will be recompensed for the damage done during the unprovoked attacks. No dues shall be paid to the throne of Asgard for the next ten centuries. And we demand that Loki Odinsson be given to us when he is returned from wherever you have stashed him,” Idunn let it be known that Jötunheimr was aware that Loki lived.

“Or?” Frigga merely raised an eyebrow.

“I would not be so rude as to threaten you in your own house, All-Mother,” Idunn replied and a wide, bewitching smile settled on her face. “But you must see how anything less would not assure us that you hold Jötunheimr to be a valuable member of the Nine Worlds.”

Frigga knew the answer to her own question. _War_. Again.

The All-Mother did not desire war. She had detested it when she had been a part of it the first time. And the second time. And all the times after.

The first conquests – the rage that had driven Odin after his father’s death, that made him leash all the worlds of Yggdrasil to his will... The memory of it made her tremble even though universe had grown much larger and older in the time that had passed since then. Yet for all that – there was no way she would turn her son over to those who would see him punished. Every cell in her being railed against the idea. It burned in her as steadily as the everlasting flame in the vaults.

All the moral reasons for acquiescing – to avoid bloodshed, to avoid war; and all the logical reasons against giving in – Loki had the protection of the office of the King for he had acted when he had ruled as one… None of it matter in the face of the simple truth – Frigga would not give her son up. There was no circumstance where that would happen. She was the _All-Mother_ and Fárbauti was a fool if she ever believed that Frigga would submit to any demand that harmed her children.

Once the Bifrost was complete again. It would not be the first time that Asgard went to war.

Frigga’s eyes were cold. They had fought Jötunheimr before. They would subjugate it again.

“You must know what the answer is, regardless,” All-Mother rose from the table.

“Aye, as surely as you know what that means in return,” Idunn’s green eyes sparkled in amusement.

LOH

Meanwhile now that Loki’s thoughts had turned to Midgard – he felt something nudging at his awareness. It was akin to something alive, like it had sensed his mind shift and latched on to those thoughts to gain more ground. It was a creature similar to a leech in the material world, something that found a prey stumbling within its domain and clamped hundreds of tiny teeth in it to suck the very lifeblood out.

Magic glazed over Loki’s eyes as he looked at the world with an entirely different sight to locate the disturbance. He raised his hands in front of himself – astonished. Aesir white as they were – they were bound. Thin, link-less chains, more like ropes, bound his arms – like vines they wrapped around him from this wrists to his shoulders and down his waist, growing thicker. Something had gotten a hold of him, and he hadn’t noticed until it had taken root within him.

The magical binds held no weight or appearance in the physical world, but they bound him in more profound ways. They dug into his skin unseen and seared into his spirit – drank his power by laying hooks within him, and tried to _skin_ him – bit by bit drawing his soul from its residence within his being.

He winced, involuntary. The first pain of separation of soul and body was annoying yet hardly insidious, like a fingernail pulled from nailbed. The chains around his hands wrapped tighter, pressing into his flesh – the sensation very real. It was confusing to feel like he was being squeezed to death, and at the same time pulled apart at the seams.

Apprehension marred his brow as he tried to pull the binds off himself. It felt like he had strayed too close to the heart of a sun - a red giant that in turn had circled too near a black hole. And instead of exploding the star was imploding in on itself, dragging him in its embrace to share its fate.

He grew more tangled by the second. He couldn’t suppress another wince as the chains bound even tighter around his arms and then tightened around his chest too. A gasp of startled pain escaped him. The threads of magic burned him wherever they touched upon him and he couldn’t shake them off. Magic didn’t obey physical laws – his strength as a god was of no use.

For a brief moment, he wondered whether this was related to his affinity for the Tesseract, but just as quickly he dismissed that thought. As strange as it was to describe it so – the Tesseract _felt_ different. When he used the space gem, or the mind gem – it was akin to learning to use a muscle he had never exercised before. The stones felt like a part of him while the magic that wound its way around his form now felt foreign and ancient. And sharp. It seemed to cut at the very edge of him on a line far more delicate than the one that merely separated skin and muscle.

The magic around his feet wound around his legs, and squeezed them numb. His pretense that the morning was proceeding normally was slipping along with his concentration. He grasped at the settee behind him to keep standing, ice flared under his hands, but he barely felt his arms – there was a cloud of pain from his wrists to his shoulders. His vision swam with unshed tears. Pain. He was altogether too familiar with that cruel mistress.

He didn’t know if his condition was related to Vanaheimr, but leaving the planet seemed like the right move on his part. He wasn’t sure how he had worked the Tesseract in the first place or how to replicate the effect – the harder he tried the less he accomplished. By now he’d been _wishing_ to leave for a quite a few long moments and it meant less and less as time trickled by. With every second his confidence in his ability to move under his own power lessened.

Loki met his lover’s eyes and was about to lie that all is well, when the binds around his legs eased. He took a relieved breath in surprise, but it was cut short. Mercilessly the magic ground into him with a renewed force - strong enough to shatter his bones. He collapsed on the ground. His limbs all but useless sacks of meat to the impulses firing in his brain. If he screamed, he was too deaf to hear it. The ice that had pooled and melted under his hands left puddles on the marble floor as the water slowly trickled down from the frame of the settee. He hardly felt the cold and the wet as he lay in it.

***

 “Maybe breakfast first?” Freyja asked getting off the bed.

“I doubt Thor will wait for it. I ought to see if there is anything left standing on Midgard,” Loki replied lightly, easily, even though it was hard to hear Freyja. The whole world seemed muddled and muffled.

“You would not want to witness the rage of that maniac,” he continued with a joke trying to blink away the feeling that this conversation was not entirely real.

Pretense came easily to him. Besides he truly doubted that Thor was more than merely peeved that Loki had evaded him – it was an old trick. He did think it best not let any of the Midgardians die before time, though, in case Thor was truly enraged. Loki had plans for the mortals, after all.

“You care for Midgard,” Freyr remarked over his shoulder as he moved to ring for servants.

“Perhaps,” Loki lied dismissively wondering if it was just him or if Freyja and Freyr felt this strange too? Aside from that - he could admit to a strange sort of affection for Midgard. In general terms. Similar to how he cared for the inflection in Freyja’s voice, for the light in Freyr’s eyes.

“Or at least you need it,” Freyja continued her brother’s previous thought sagely as she threw open all the curtains to let the morning light in. Her breasts greeted the light of day proudly – as well as any who happened to glimpse so high in the tower. None of them had dressed yet. With her back to Loki, she did not see his growing distress.

“I presume I am free to leave,” Loki ground out between his clenched teeth, suddenly changing the track of the conversation to where it had begun.

“Of course,” Freyr’s smile wavered, and concern darkened his features as he turned. The flash of alarm in his eyes the first thing that seemed to click just right – like a struggling musician that finally caught up with the rest of the orchestra.

Before a word could be said - Loki’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed.

***

He could not stop himself from shaking. He hardly knew what was real or not. A violent seizure shook him. It was like the Void again, only worse. He could feel the foreign magic corrupting his own. He felt his own power turn against him. His strength became his undoing. The curse, the creature, the _thing -_ it wreaked havoc on his being. It twisted in his belly like a living thing making a nest of his insides. It clawed up his lungs and pulverized his bones – all without leaving a trace in the physical world. It tormented not his living flesh but his spirit.

He did not feel Freyr’s gentle touch as Freyr carried him to the bed. He did not see how Freyja turned to her own magic and gasped in horror and then turned pale with nausea when she saw what was happening behind the veil of the physical world. He did not hear her send her brother for the Valkyries.

If he had – he’d have realized sooner what was happening.

Everything flashed dark before his eyes and suddenly it was like he was thrust into a world that he couldn’t trust - the pain stopped. It was disorienting just like the conversation he had had with Freyr and Freyja before. It was like he was there. And yet he knew his body lay in bed in Vanaheimr.

He looked, but there was only darkness. He tried to hear, but there was silence. There was nothing. Only a bottomless pit where even death did not exist. Not the end of the universe – the absence of one.

He howled in horror for he recognized the place from a nightmare he hadn’t remembered having until now.

And then the darkness softened like a curtain swaying in wind. It moved with an unseen breeze as if someone brushed it away as easily as swatting an annoying fly. It became lighter and lighter until it grew gray as a sheet of summer rain. And then there was a flash of light.

And suddenly Loki stood on the edge of a world. On the very arc of a nearly round planet. And he saw a storm like he had never seen before – it enveloped the world as far as his eyes could see. A whisper in his heart told him that it did not stop at the curve. He could smell it in the chemical composition of the atmosphere. He knew without knowing that the heavy clouds enveloped all the seas and all the lands.

At the center of it - he saw Thor.

***

He didn’t fall. Between one breath and the next he found himself on the ground. A knee pressed against the road. The yellow line of a traffic lane division beneath his palm. He could feel the ground tremble in anticipation of what was coming. A shiver ran from his hand through his body as if he was one with the earth.

He glanced up tentatively. The buildings around him still stood tall. He recognized them. The street was full of cars, with doors thrown open – abandoned. And a hysterical mass of people ran past him for shelter that they had no hope of reaching. And though they could not see him – the desperate wave of humanity parted before him like ice in the river breaks with the coming of spring.

He rose slowly as the world rushed past him.

The sky wasn’t just overcast. It was nearly black. And he knew the clouds had no ending – they covered the entirety of the planet. A sudden flash of illumination. A pale streak of lightning. Loki stared at that spot in the sky even after the light was gone. With his hand pressed against his chest, tapping a finger lightly - he counted heartbeats. Patiently. A quiet thunder rumbled. No one else heard it above the chaos of the crowd.

The heart of the storm was still hundreds of miles away.

And he waited. The swarm of humanity never seemed to lessen. In a city that housed millions no one was going to survive. He knew that Thor was finally near when the rain started. It was no soft drizzle followed by a heavier rainfall. It began suddenly. One moment the air was calm, and the next - rain fell like a sheet of white. Loki was drenched in seconds.

Yet he turned his gaze heavenward looking for Thor. The raindrops were blinding – they splashed against his face like a thousand slaps. The mortals were pressed to the ground by the force of it. It was like an entire ocean fell from the sky. When lightning struck – all who saw it became blind. The street cracked like a ceramic mug carelessly dropped. The sinkhole that the impact created swallowed cars and toppled skyscrapers.

Following his instincts, Loki jumped up before the road collapsed underneath him.

The wind caught him, and carried him easily as if it recognized him. He never had had the power of flight, but the storm carried him easily. The thunder that followed barely a heartbeat after the lightning tore apart eardrums of every mortal being within vicinity. Steel cracked. Window glass became dust. Silence reigned as blind and deaf, the people below forgot their own voices.

Loki could not spare them – and the realization stung. He found himself morbidly drawn to the carnage of the collapsing city, in vain he tried to pull his gaze away. Pity swelled in his chest.

For all his talk of war – he had not seen destruction on such a scale yet. He had been in countless battles, but not one war. He was too young – as gods counted the passage of time. He would have destroyed Jötunheimr – but he would have done so from billions of light years apart. He would not have seen it in its death throes.

And then – amidst all the gray and blinding white, and charred black – he saw a flash of silver an red. Thor – in full armor.

And Loki felt his heart sigh with strange sort of pain as he remembered something that he had always known yet had forgotten the meaning of – Thor’s armor was made of star metal, but plated with silver. Not for endurance, but as a tribute.

There are two precious metals pervasive in all the worlds of Ygdrassil – gold and silver. Two constants that hold true for all the words – there are always suns, the stars that burn with warmth, and there are always moons that shine with light in the darkest of places. There is gold and there is silver. There are two princes of Asgard. The golden prince and the prince with the silver tongue.

Thor wore his allegiance upon his breast and vambraces.

Between one breath and the next a green light washed over Loki as he donned his full armor. Gold and green.

Distance became nothing as wind pushed him forward, and he caught himself by the breastplate of Thor’s armor. Molded himself to his brother’s side. Storm whipped their capes in a scene befitting gods – but there was no one to witness it. The mass of humanity was broken and crippled beneath them.

“Brother,” endearment slipped from his lips as Loki forgot himself. His clutch at Thor more of a caress than anything else. “What have you done?”

Thor did not see him. Thor did not feel his touch. He tore the world apart with the same ferocity as sorrow ravaged him. He would not stop. He could not. He would not rest until his will was done. A god was lost as far as he knew, and a god was an entire world unto himself in a way that mortals could never comprehend. The depths of an immortal being – the preciousness of such a life… How could things that lived less than the time it took for a candle to light, burn and snuff out in Asgard ever understand the worth of such a life. He would take his recompense. He was his father’s son. Yggdrasil would bow before his grief.

He should have been afraid – but Loki had never feared his brother’s fury or anger. He did not release his claim upon Thor even as he watched a tidal wave loom over the city below them – a billion tons of crushing force that reared its head over the coastline like a hungry beast. The only glimmer of light in Thor’s eyes was grim satisfaction as the city was washed away. The bright cerulean of his gaze was turned muddy dark blue. This was Thor as Loki had never known him before. Cold. Merciless.

“You would have been proud,” Thor whispered as he surveyed his handiwork. “You will be avenged, Loki.”

***

Before he could see the end of Midgard, he was pulled away by a will not his own. Dragged back into a body that believed itself broken – Loki screamed. And with the sudden rush of consciousness of his living flesh – he realized what this was.

He remembered the one ritual he had performed in recent memory. If he wasn’t choking on his own tongue – he’d curse. _The sacred fucking hospitality_.

The ancient magic was stupid – it couldn’t distinguish between shades of consent. The Tesseract had acted on his wishes, taking him away, yet it had done so without his expressed consent. The magic judged that his hosts had been negligent in their duty – that he had been kidnapped. And afterwards Thor had been the instrument that the fates had used to wreak their vengeance upon the world that had failed in its promise.

And yet the magic punished him as well, because he had failed too.

 _It’s not supposed to be this strong._ That was the one thought that rung clear through Loki’s mind in his agony. When he had allowed the ritual, when he had felt the tendril of that magic latch on the barest part of him – it had been a feeble thing. He could have snapped it like a twig between one breath and the next.

And now it was strong enough to seek to break his mind. Piece by piece it pulled his soul from his body making him drift along the branches of Yggdrasil. His being becoming no more than the illusions he was so fond of.

As he opened his eyes for a moment he saw Freyja, frantic above him as she tried to keep him breathing, tried to keep more of his spirit from leaving his body. He heard the sound of chant above his own screams. The Valkyries surrounded the bed - seven women stood in a circle and kept him anchored to the world of the living. He guessed that it was them that pulled the pieces of him back from their wanderings on the branches of Yggdrasil back into his body.

And at the same moment he realized that all of what he had witnessed - had been real.

And his first thought was of Thor. Whatever he had seen happen on Midgard had to have happened days ago as time went on Vanaheimr. He had failed his part of the hospitality oath and unless he could fix it – the magic would not rest until it claimed his life. Not even Freyja and the Valkyries could stop that. The idea of dying was not new, but it was sobering.

But just as soon as the thought appeared in his mind – from a spark it grew into a wildfire. Loki heaved with breath as he knew what he had to do like he had always known. Like it was something he was made for. It was just like the moment before the Tesseract whisked him across the universe.

This time worlds did not whip around him. He saw the entirety of the universe and then he saw it shrink. Just a little bit. It contracted like a tummy, sucked in, to fit in a tunic. Like the most perfect clockwork mechanism – entire galaxies and within them star systems turned just a little bit back in their rotation. Cosmos shrank just a little smaller. A night turned backwards on Vanaheimr – entire days became unlived on Earth.

***

Loki opened his eyes. His body slumped in the embrace of Freyr and Freyja. His spirit whole. It took but one look to realize that they stood in the throne room. It was the very moment he had walked through the door and stumbled.

That had happened a night ago. It felt like an entire lifetime.

He did not need to look to know that the chains of magic were gone, though roots of the ritual spell still nestled within him. He felt them like splinters in his flesh

“Bifrost, now,” he rasped. There was not a moment to spare.

Loki shook badly. Freyr and Freyja had to support him all the way to Bifrost. He knew exactly what had happened. He knew exactly what he had done. He could not give words to it in his own mind yet. He was terrified. Anyone with any sense would be. He mercilessly trampled down on his panic. Sentiment was not practical.

Tesseract – the gem of space, giving the ability to travel. The gem of mind – giving sanctuary for his sanity. The gem of time – that made an entire universe stand straighter and pull its stomach in.

The Bifrost flashed.

_Mjölnir returned to Thor’s hand. “Enough!” he growled and prepared to strike._

“Stop!” Loki cried. He, Freyja and Freyr landed on the landing strip of Helicarrier.


End file.
